


No Strings on Me

by Donatello7



Series: The Day the Music Died [6]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Corpses which are walking, Crew as Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Peter has been kidnapped by zombies, Peter has been kidnapped must be tuesday, Yondu had experience in this area for reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donatello7/pseuds/Donatello7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's father is determined to punish Yondu for 'stealing' his son 27 years ago. Unfortunately for Peter, the best way to punish Yondu is through the boy he now calls his own.</p><p>Chapter 5 - And Gamora can only let out an anguished cry as the empty clothes fall from her arms.<br/>Chapter 6 - ‘DOES IT HURT? WATCHING HIM DIE.’<br/>Chapter 7 - “Believe in yourself, Peter.”<br/>Chapter 8 - “I’m sorry, Quill.”<br/>Chapter 9 - “Do you want to be friends, Peter Jason Quill?”<br/>Chapter 10 - Peter hopes that neither of them is lying.<br/>Chapter 11 - "Shame he ain’t had a chance to practice much. What with you waiting twenty seven years to tell him that he had super powers."<br/>Chapter 12 - Yondu hasn’t cried since the day that Peter regained his sight, and he’ll be a dead man before he cries in front of them now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chase you through the yard

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to “No Strings on Me”
> 
> AKA Why Donnie7 shouldn't be allowed near writing utensils while she is watching The Walking Dead.

 

He is clutching the knife handle so tight that the nail of his forefinger digs into his thumb tip, drawing blood. He lets it, letting the pain keep him from drifting. Sharp. Focus. Listen. What can he hear over his own thundering heart. boomBoom. boomBoom. boomBoom.

 

The creature steps into view. She might have been Xandarian once. She might have been beautiful once. Now the skin of the jaw has melted away, the teeth hand from a lipless mouth, and the hollow eyes...she can’t see.

 

Peter takes this advantage, running forward with a cry, knife slicing at the throat. The head falls backwards with ease, there’s little to no strength in her. It is like cutting paper.

 

“Paper People.” Drax's voice in his head.

 

The girl falls, but she does not die. The lipless mouth continues to gasp, exposed airways twitching as they work where they once would have drawn breath. The body is dead.

 

Gagging, screaming, Peter brings the knife down again, and the gasping stops.

 

He falls backwards against the wall, eyes focused on the creature before him. She’s wearing what's left of a nova corps uniform. He takes a breath through the cloth of his coat, and searches her pocket. Finally he finds what he is looking for. Dog tags. Blood stained. Old. Nova Corps reissued a new design three or four years ago.

 

How long has she been here?

 

How long will he be here?

 

He swallows, dropping the tags into his zip up pocket and leaning against the wall as he stands, stepping over the body/corpse/monster/nova corps officer/he opens his pocket again, looks at the dog tags.

 

Seria Ray. Born, if his maths was correct, the same year as Peter.

 

He steps over Seria Ray, and carries on down the rocky passage, knife held. He can see up ahead where another tunnel of the maze like cave system opens out onto his one, light spilling onto the ground, and he quickly throws his back against the wall as a shadow passes across this, a silhouette growing larger and larger as whoever...whatever...comes closer to his corridor.

 

He waits, waits until he can hear them approaching. Their feet slide across the ground. Sheesh. Sheesh. Sheesh. He raises the knife, takes a breath.

 

He remembers enough from his childhood. Avoid the teeth. Don’t get bitten. Sitting with his eyes peering over a pillow, his mother rubbing his back with one hand while the other covers her eyes. A bowl of popcorn. It was fun to be scared.

 

Don’t get bitten.

 

He pushes off the wall, rounds the corner, screams. A hand grabs his wrist, holding the knife at bay.

 

“Quill!”

 

He collapses into the embrace, allowing himself this small, tiny moment of feeling safe. Maybe it is over. Maybe it is nearly over now. This is a rescue.

 

“Dammit, Boy. Hoped he’d been lying.”

 

“Where are we?”

 

“Not somewhere we want to be staying.”

 

The embrace parts as they both turn, back to back, stood so they can both look up and down the two corridors that intersect their position. Yondu whistles, and the arrow flies into the shadows. There is a satisfying “shwoop” noise, and Peter hears a body hit the floor with a wet thwack.

 

“They’re people.” Peter says, holding up the dog tags. “I pulled these from one.”

 

“Old sickness. Thought it been wiped out years ago. Eats your brain till there’s nothing left but hunger.”

 

“You mean they really ARE zombies?” Peter almost...almost...laughs. He then dashes forward, killing another of the creatures as they stumble out of the shadows.

 

Roars and moans fill the corridor. Not wasting a second, Yondu grabs Peter, pulling him into a run down the lit passage. Peter trips and stumbles, but keeps up, running alongside him and keeping pace until Yondu pushes him into an alcove along the cave network.

 

The Centaurian throws his body weight against a solid stone, rolling it in front of the alcove to serve as a barrier of sorts. He then climbs into the gap beside Peter.

 

They both slide down the rock wall, sitting with their knees drawn behind the barrier.

 

“We’re safe for the moment, Boy. Only one way they can get to us, and we’re armed.” He takes Peter’s knife from him, resting it on the floor on his other side. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

 

“Here? Now?”

 

“Might not get another chance later, Quill.” Yondu says, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders and encouraging the Terran to lean against him. “You remember anything?”

 

“We were on your M-Ship, you and me. I remember...we got that distress call.” Peter’s voice slurs as fatigue sets in. “Then...I don’t know. There was a white light. Woke up here.”

 

“Crew won’t be expecting us back for several days, and no telling how long they’ll take to find us after that. We’ve got to assume help isn’t coming.”

 

“Been there before.” Peter says, almost asleep against Yondu’s chest.

 

“Not alone this time though.” Yondu reminds him, tightening his grip. “We’re in this one together. You and me. Ain’t leaving you alone this time. We fight them together.”

 

Peter yawns, and he sinks further into the hold.

 

“Who is he?”

 

“He?”

 

“Before. When we met. You said ‘I hoped he’d been lying’.”

 

“Don’t remember that.” Yondu sighs. “Ramblings of a crazy old man stuck in a cave with monsters.”

 

Peter laughs.

 

“You think me going mad is funny, Boy?”

 

“We’re fighting zombies.” The Terran says again. “Zombies!” He collapses into a fit of giggles that the Centaurian soon finds himself joining. Because Peter is right.

 

This is going to be a shit stupid way to die.

 

* * *

 

There is a problem on the Eclector.

 

The problem is that the Ravagers chain of command doesn’t have anything in place to cover situations where the Captain is off ship at the same time as the First Mate is on medical leave.

 

Klo immediately put himself forward as acting Captain, on the argument that he was the oldest member of the crew by several centuries. This was immediately debunked by Harris, who put forward the counter argument that age did not necessarily mean wisdom, as Klo often demonstrated.

 

The crew then decided to have an engineering knowledge test, which Mali won. This was followed by a ‘who is the best pilot’ tournament, which nearly killed Doc. Finally they settled on arm wrestling, which Drax won because by this point Klo had gotten bored and wandered off.

 

What the crew failed to take into account during the Great Tournaments, was the ingenuity and ambition of Zeena, the youngest member of the Ravagers at the tender age of seven years and five months.

 

While everyone was busy rescuing Doc from himself during the pilot skills tournament, Zeena had gained access to the bridge. With the help of Rocket, she had quickly changed the passwords on all of the Eclector’s systems, and at 15:00 that afternoon she announced that she was now Captain of the Eclector. Rocket and Groot would serve as her advisory council until she came of age.

 

The rebellion quickly formed, with Nari the Rainer Tech leading the attempts to regain control of the ship systems via the consoles in engineering.

 

During all of this, Gamora was and still is hiding in the relative sanity that is the Milano cockpit. From here, she should be able to make a relatively decent escape should the chaotic situation onboard lead to the Eclector’s self destruct system activating.

 

At this point, she is giving serious consideration to activating it herself.

 

With nothing better to do, she activates the com unit, and dials.

 

“Gamora?” The tired voice comes through the console. “Do you have any idea what time it is on Xandar?”

 

“Zeena has taken over the ship.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yondu and Peter have gone off on this stupid father and son annual mission that they do, and Zeena has taken over the ship.”

 

“Good for her.” Kraglin mutters.

 

“I’m going to blow it up.”

 

“Have fun.”

 

“Any chance of you cutting your vacation short?”

 

“I’m not on vacation, I’m on medical leave because of a breakdown. I’m sorry, I figured you might recall, seeing as you caused it and all.”

 

“I did apologise.”

 

“I’m going back to bed now.” Kraglin says, a little louder.

 

“I was not joking about blowing up the ship, Kraglin.”

 

“Will you be on it when it explodes?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Then you have my blessing. Goodnight.” And the com unit dies.

 

Gamora sits back in the cockpit. “I am going to die surrounded by the biggest idiots in the galaxy.”

 

As an alarm sounds in the distance, Gamora rests her head against the console, and prays for a supernova.

 

* * *

 

‘YOU LIED TO HIM.’

 

“No.” Yondu grabs the arrow from its sheath, holding it up as he might a knife. Checking once on the sleeping Peter, Yondu steps out of the alcove into the passageway. “Where are you, you jackass?”

 

‘WHY DID YOU NOT TELL HIM ABOUT ME? OR WHY YOU ARE REALLY HERE?’ There is a smile in the voice. ‘WHY I BROUGHT YOU HERE?’

 

“Been protecting him from you since the day I met him, Mu’Rel. Why stop now?”

 

Mu’Rel laughs.

 

‘YES. PROTECTING HIM.’ He says, mockingly. ‘LOVING HIM. TEACHING HIM COMPASSION. LOYALTY. YOU HAVE MADE MY SON SOFT, YONDU UDONTA.’

 

Yondu looks up at the ceiling. “Taught him to be strong. Taught him not to be afraid of scum like you. Ain’t saying I always did right by him. I made mistakes. But I can hold my head up high and say I did my best. Can you, Mu’Rel?’

 

There is silence, broken only by the distant moan of one of the creatures that fills the cave network.

 

‘YOU TOLD ME HE HAD DIED. THAT MY TEACHINGS HAD KILLED HIM.’

 

“If I hadn’t, he WOULD be dead by now.”

 

‘INSTEAD. HE WILL NOW DIE OF THE WEAKNESS YOU INSTILLED UPON HIM.’

 

Yondu is brought to his knees as Mu’Rel leaves his head, pain in his wake. He is barely aware of the desperate hands grabbing his shoulders.

 

“Get back in that alcove, boy?” Yondu’s voice is hoarse. “Stupid us both being out in the open.”

 

As if to remind them why, a moan echoes down the passage.

 

“What happened?” Peter’s own voice is surprisingly calm, but Yondu knows him better than that. He can see the frantic fear in his boy’s eyes.

 

“I’m fine, Peter. Just...tired” He smiles, but Peter clearly isn’t buying it. “Your turn to watch.”

 

Peter nods, raising the knife in his hand. “I’ve got this.”

 

“I know you do.” Yondu nods, patting Peter on the shoulder. “You learned from the best.”

 

Yondu sleeps, but only in spurts, one eye ever on Peter as he sits at the mouth of the alcove, darting out to knife any creature stupid enough to walk into his field of vision.

 

His boy. Pulled into Yondu’s punishment at the hands of Mu’Rel.

 

Peter’s father.

 

‘I AM GOING TO ENJOY THIS.’

 

Yondu throws a rude gesture at the ceiling, his resolve set. He meant what he had said. He has protected Peter from Mu’Rel since the day they met, he is not stopping now.

 

He is going to get Peter out of this. Any way. Whatever the way. If he has to die to save him now, then Yondu will do it gladly.

 

He won’t let Mu’Rel win.

 

 


	2. Ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there they are. The teeth marks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the notifications spamming. This fic seems determined to publish itself in the past :-/
> 
> Incidentally, well done to everyone who found the first chapter, which WAS hidden in the past :-) Thank you for reading.

The alcove was safe, but they couldn’t stay there forever. If they wanted to survive then they needed to find food, and a way out of wherever they were.

 

Yondu looks at his timepiece. “Assuming this is correct, today's the day.”

 

“Twenty seven years since I joined the crew.” Peter wraps his arms around himself as he walks. “Celebration's not quite going according to plan.”

 

“Next year, we go fishing.”

 

Peter chuckles at the joke, and nods. “I know this great spot on Aceta Four. The fish taste amazing.”

 

“When did you go to Aceta Four?”

 

“Bereet’s from there. She told me.”

 

“Oh.” Yondu runs the name by his memory. “Which one was Bereet?”

 

The hoard seems to come out of nowhere, on top of Yondu and Peter in an instant. With no chance to use his arrow conventionally, Yondu grabs it in his hand and stabs the nearest creature between the eyes, crying out as he feels the skull collapse beneath his fist. He pulls back, and kicks at the second creature, stamping on its head.

 

Peter quickly dispatches two more with his knife, before scooting across the cave floor to stand back to back with Yondu, knife held across his chest.

 

Concentrating on Peter, Yondu doesn’t see the the creature until she is right next to him. She growls and hisses at them, her teeth almost on Yondu’s neck before Peter skids in between them, using his own body weight to push the creature away and onto the ground. They roll, she is on top of him, and she bites down.

 

He screams, his free hand throwing the knife into the side of her head. Her neck cracks, head flying to the side so hard that the skin rips from her shoulder.

 

The body collapses against him, spilling blood and shattered entrails over Peter’s face and neck. He gags, cries, and kicks the body away in a fit almost like a tantrum before standing, hands buried into hair now thick with blood. The hysterical laughter grows into a cry, and Peter screams again, all of his frustration and fear and anger and just god damn because this...after everything he has been through...it is going to be this.

 

Yondu grabs him roughly, pulling him to a standing position, hands wrapped painfully around his arm. Either side of the blood. He wipes it away quickly with his sleeve, not caring for the mess it makes of his coat, not caring about the pain it causes Peter. He has to see. He has to know.

 

And there they are. The teeth marks.

 

“Shit.” Peter pulls his arm and gaze away, and punches the cave wall behind him with another scream. He kicks it. Shouts at it. And then...he lets out a breath that seems to come from every inch of his body, and rests his forehead against the cold stone. “Shit.”

 

“Quill?”

 

“How long do I have?”

 

“A day.” Yondu whispers. No point sugar coating this now. No point telling him that everything is going to be okay. “You’ve got a day. Maybe.”

 

“A day to live.” Peter chuckles, although his expression is not humoured in the slightest. He kneels down, picks up the knife he dropped, and grits his teeth. “Best I make it count.”

 

“Peter.” Yondu gently takes the boys chin, tilting his head so that their eyes make contact. “I…”

 

“We should get moving.” Peter says, not making eye contact. “There might still be a way for you to escape.”

 

He steps away and carries on walking through the corridor, not looking back to see if Yondu is following him.

 

The Centaurian kicks the corpse of the monster that bit Peter, and follows him in a numb trance, no longer able to think beyond breathing and putting one foot in front of the other, in front of the other, in front of the other as he walks behind the Terran.

 

“It’s colder here.” Peter says, quietly. “Air’s fresher.”

 

“Entrance must be nearby.” Yondu nods, uselessly seeing as Peter isn’t looking at him. “Means we’re nearly at the end of this cave.”

 

It’s an obvious statement that normally would have earned him an eye roll from the Terran. But right now they both need this, this aimless conversation.

 

“Do you think your ship is around here somewhere?”

 

“Need to hope so.”

 

“Would it have...anything?”

 

Yondu shakes his head, again uselessly. Dammit, he needs to actually say it. “No. There’s nothing to be done for you. Not here.”

 

Another shuddering breath leaves Peter, and Yondu can see the way his hand tightens around the knife, knuckles shining white. “I can see the entrance.” He moves on ahead, faster. Then stops.

 

The sky is red as they leave, and it is impossible to know if it is night or day. It’s cold though, that much is obvious, and a large, red moon hangs in the sky, every detail of its surface visible. It seems close enough to touch.

 

As if hypnotised, Peter reaches out towards the satellite, then pulls his hand away. “Where are we?”

 

“I don’t know this world.” There’s a strong smell in the air. Sulphur. So something volcanic is nearby, maybe. Not surprising in so barren a landscape. The ground is black with ash. It’s unlikely that anything lives here, besides what they have left behind.

 

If there is one thing that Mu’Rel chooses well, it’s hiding places.

 

The entrance, if it can be called that, is halfway up a seemingly miles high wall, overlooking a sheer drop. There is no safe way to climb down, or up. It’s as good as a dead end.

 

“We need to keep moving.” Peter says, and Yondu is happy to let the Terran take the lead back into the cave, to let him have these final hours of being in control. Of being strong. He follows him wordlessly.

 

It isn’t long before they hear the moans again. Hear the shuffling. Like cries of pain, and weakened steps.

 

“How many of them are there?”

 

“Could be hundreds.” Yondu says. “Probably all brought here like we were. Saw it hit a colony when I was just starting out with the Ravagers, nearly wiped the planet out before Nova Corps found a cure.”

 

“There’s a cure.” Peter says, his voice cracking.

 

Yondu shakes his head. “Xandar found a cure, a way to stop the infection from spreading through the host. But...”

 

“But unless we can teleport there, it doesn’t do me much good.” Peter nods, forcing a smile onto his solemn face. “Figures.”

 

Yondu stops dead in his tracks, the idea hitting his brain so quickly that it is almost painful.

 

“Nephilim are teleporters.”

 

“What?”

 

“Need you to listen to me. Listen to me Boy.” Yondu places his hand either side of Peter’s head, face inches from his own. “You know now, you know you ain’t a full Terran. Never told you, didn’t want you to be asking questions or getting curious. But I’m telling you now, you’re Nephilim too, and that might mean, means you might be a teleporter. Just got to believe that you can do it.”

 

“What?” Peter shouts incredulously as he tries to step out of the grip, but Yondu only tightens it.

 

“Believe it. Picture the Eclector. Picture the bridge. You know that bridge like the back of your hand, Quill. Put yourself there now. Eclector is in orbit over Xandar. Believe you can go there.”

 

“You think I didn’t do that a hundred times when Thanos…”

 

“But you didn’t KNOW then, Quill.” He places their foreheads together. “Now you do. Now I’m TELLING you, the power is there boy. You can do this.”

 

Peter shakes his head against Yondu’s grip, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re CRAZY.”

 

Yondu slides his hands down to Peter’s shoulders, giving him a stern shake. “Now do it. I know you can boy. I know the power is in there.”

 

The moans grow louder, and Yondu can smell the rotting flesh of the corpses approaching them.

 

“No.” Peter opens his eyes as tears spill out. “I can’t.”

 

“NOW.”

 

“This is insane.”

 

Yondu shakes him. “NOOOOOOW.”

 

Peter closes his eyes tightly, cries out again, and Yondu suddenly finds himself holding an empty coat. The rest of the clothes sit in a pile at his feet.

 

“That’s my boy.” The laughter bubbles out of him, and before long he is in hysterics, almost whooping with joy as he looks from the clothes to the roof of the cave. The Centaurian collapses to his knees, almost unable to...no, he has to believe. He has no way of KNOWING that Peter made it, that he is safe now, on the Eclector and on his way to a cure. But he has to believe in him. So he does. “That’s my boy.”

 

It doesn’t matter what happens to the Centaurian now. Let them torture him, destroy him, eat him. Turn him into a mindless creature roaming the cave network until his corpse has finished rotting.

 

His boy is safe.

 

“He’s going to live, Mu’Rel.” He shouts to the air. “You FAILED.”

 

Yondu collects up the clothes to put in his bag, and that is when the tiny device drops out, hitting the floor with a quiet CLINK. Yondu drops the clothes, frantically grabbing the blood stained silver casing.

 

It’s Peter’s translator implant, freshly ripped from his brain.

 

Yondu crushes the implant with his fist, his face shaped into a silent plea against the world.

 

No.

 

The monsters stumble into the cave before him, and Yondu sees red.

 

 


	3. Running through my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has to believe that Peter is alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's coming up on midnight, and I am probably going to regret this late night at work tomorrow, but I got into the zone and now have another chapter finished!!! And ahead of the schedule I set myself yesterday!!!
> 
> Hopefully the next chapter won't be such a long wait. RL and I are slowly coming to an agreement about where fanfic ACTUALLY lies in the list of priorities ;-)
> 
> Oh...and this fic is STILL trying to post in the past. Original publication date for this chapter was October 28th :-/

A lone figure stumbles through the caverns, covered in blood, some of it blue, most of it red. He is wearing bits and pieces tied together from different outfits. The clothes swallow his large frame.

 

He stopped being able to smell himself a while ago, which is a blessing.

 

The knife in his hand feels heavy. He looks down at it. It is caked, and he should really clean it, but it sleep deprived brain provides the logic that it will just get dirty again in a while.

 

This isn’t his knife. Nor is it Peter’s. Where did he...yes he remembers. Kraglin gave it to him.

 

His vision fuzzes into yellow as his eyes roll into his skull and he crashes into the rock, crying out. No longer able to hold his weight, his booted feet slide along the dust covered floor, sending him down a few more times before adrenaline finally kicks in and he is able to gain purchase.

 

The air becomes cooler again, and Yondu once again prays to the Gods he gave up on years ago that it is another door. A part of him also prays for another window, so he can throw himself through it. Even though he knows that he wouldn’t.

 

If Yondu Udonta was ever asked to list his worst traits, then near the top of that list would be ‘Even When All is Lost, He’s Too Stubborn to Die’. And that was why he made the camouflage, covering himself in his victim’s skin and blood and clothing. They are blind, it was one of the first things he noticed. They use smell, they use sound.

 

And in a cave of walking corpses, Yondu is now just part of the scenery.

 

He still can’t comprehend how his heartbeat hadn’t given him away when he first tested the theory, walking so close to one of the...what had Peter called them? Zombies….he walked so close to one that their faces were inches away, and all it did was moan and walk past him. They even bumped shoulders.

 

He kept the knife though, just in case. Just in case something happened.

 

Because even when all is lost, Yondu Udonta’s too stubborn to die.

  
  


He rounds the corner, passing another of the creatures as he stumbles, every inch of his body crying out for rest, but he keeps walking. He has to find...there. Red sky. Large moon. And the ground. The blessed ground extends into the outer world. He picks up speed, attracting the attention of the monster behind him but no longer caring, he has found new energy. He has survived the cave.

 

As soon as he is a few feet from the entrance he collapses to his knees, enjoying the feeling of fresh air on his face. He wipes at the blood and grime covering his cheeks, shaking his hand to flick it away onto the ground around him. Then he stands, looks around. Just rock, and lava, and the large moon that eclipses the sky itself.

 

“MU’REL!” He screams into the air, blue stained spit flying from his mouth. He bit the corner when he fell, he can feel the sharp tang in his cheek. “You waiting for me to beg, you jackass? Well you can keep waiting!”

 

‘YOU WILL NOT BEG, YONDU UDONTA? NOT EVEN FOR HIS LIFE?’

 

“You can’t touch him. He’s gone. He’s far away from you.”

 

‘IS HE? AN UNTRAINED TELEPORT, FROM A HYBRID NO LESS.’ Mu’Rel’s laugh fills his head, and Yondu wraps his arms around his ears as his temples scream with the pressure of it. He feels like he needs to literally hold his head together as it builds and builds to a blinding migraine. ‘BEG, YONDU UDONTA. BEG FOR YOUR BOY’S LIFE.’

 

“You ain’t got him.” Yondu says quietly, almost to himself. “You ain’t got him. I know my boy. He escaped. You’re lying.”

 

‘ARE YOU WILLING TO TAKE THAT RISK?’ The voice booms, and Yondu grits his teeth. ‘I WILL SAVOUR IT. THE LOOK ON HIS FACE WHEN HE SAW ME. WHEN HE REMEMBERED. I COULD ONLY WISH FOR SUCH FEAR FROM MY ENEMIES.’

 

Yondu stands, taking his arms away from his head. “It’s me you want Mu’Rel. It’s me this is about. Let him go, and I’ll let you do what you want. I won’t fight. I won’t try to escape.”

 

Mu’Rel laughs, and it takes all of Yondu’s resolve not to collapse and wrap his arms back around his head. No, he is going to meet this.

 

‘YOU FOOL.’ Mu’Rel laughs. ‘I ALREADY HAVE YOU. AND I CAN ALREADY DO WHAT I WANT.’ A deep breath. ‘AND NEITHER OF YOU CAN ESCAPE.’

 

A scream fills Yondu’s head. It’s not his. It’s not Mu’Rel’s. And his arms return to wrapping around his ears, as he screams with Peter.

 

“LET HIM GO.” Yondu screams, and his voice cracks. He looks down, gritting his teeth. “I’m begging you. DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU JACKASS! I’m BEGGING you. He’s innocent. It was MY choice. I stole him. He didn’t...” He closes his eyes. “...I stole him. He didn’t have any choice.”

 

And silence, a silence so sudden that it makes Yondu feel sick as the pressure leaves his head. He bends over, coughing and gagging.

 

“It’s me you've got business with, Mu’Rel. So hurt me.”

 

‘I AM.’

 

* * *

 

“Nari, are you sure that that is the correct console you are rewiring?”

 

“Harris, who do you think wired all of these consoles in the FIRST PLACE.” The Rainer’s voice comes from inside the console that her legs are jutting out of. “If I can just get it to bypass the security sub routines, we should be able to fool the system into thinking that WE are the bridge.”

 

“I am not entirely sure that it is working out.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because the door into the room has just started sliding open and shut. And open. And shut. And open. And shut.” Harris starts to sway in time with the sliding door. “It is oddly hypnotic.”

 

“That little RODENT.” She pushes herself out from under the console. “He’s built a bypass around my bypass.”

 

“Can you not build a bypass around his bypass of your bypass?”

 

“I just tried.”

 

“And.”

 

“He bypassed it.”

 

Harris nods, impressed. “Quill was not joking about him being a technical genius.”

 

“I wonder what he’d taste like in a stew.”

 

* * *

 

Gamora didn’t realise that she had fallen asleep in the pilot chair until she woke up, her neck stiff and her left hand dead from where it had been pressed between her hip and the chair. She flexed the fingers painfully as she stood, slowly making her way out of the cockpit.

 

“If you would like to witness the teeth rotting, mind numbing spectacle that is Drax telling a bedtime story, then go stand by the door into Zeena’s room.”

 

Gamora smirks as she steps out of the cockpit, which reminds her that they still needed to fix the hatch. “Still chaos out there?”

 

“Ain’t a Ravager ship without a little bit of crazy.” Rocket is sat at on the galley table, screwdriver at work on heaven knows what. Groot is sat behind him, watching the raccoon work. “Just hope Yondu and Quill finish up this mission before this crew starts forming tribes.”

 

As if on cue, another alarm sounds within the ship, the third or fourth that day. “Well. So much for Drax getting the kid off to sleep.”

 

“What’s set this one off?” Gamora says as she climbs out of the Milano into the Eclector’s hanger. The hanger and the corridor leading to it is empty of people. It’s late and most of the crew are either at their bunks or keeping a skeleton crew on the bridge (recently regained because Zeena wanted to play a new game...although Rocket had not given up all of the ships systems just yet).

 

Gamora goes in that direction, her skin feeling the cold as the ship slowly winds down into night mode. It is comforting. Gamora had nothing against planets, but she grew up on ships like the Dark Aster. Artificial environments, manufactured atmospheres and the knowledge that everything was monitored and did what it was meant to do at certain times. Controlled. Clean.

 

Well, cleaner.

 

Raised voices bring her attention to a turn in the corridor. She’s still learning the layout of the ship, but she knows that this corridor leads to the room that Doc uses as the medical bay. Brilliant, someone had managed to get themselves hurt. Considering the chaos of the last couple of days, she was surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner. Letting her curiosity get the better of her, she proceeded down this way, picking up speed as the shouting becomes more frantic.

 

“He’s bleeding into his brain.”

 

And then she starts to run, stopping at the door because her eyes can't believe what she is seeing.

 

It seems like every Ravager on the ship is crammed into the room, circling the central bed. A blanket is draped over the naked figure, held on his side while the Krylorian medic works with a tool at the base of his neck.

 

Peter’s neck.

 

“Peter?” Gamora whispers the name. She doesn’t scream or run the rest of the way into the room. She simply stands still in the doorway, not noticing Rocket and Groot as they enter the room behind her. Rocket doesn’t show the same restraint as the assassin, darting into the room and hopping up onto the edge of the bed where Peter is laid. “How’d he get here?”

 

“He just appeared on the bridge.” Harris says. “I mean literally, out of nowhere. Just...there.”

 

“Something’s ripped the translation implant clean out. Probably whatever teleported him here.” Doc is surprisingly calm considering the situation. “I’ve nearly...there.” He lowers the medical tool, and steps back, one eye on the screen monitoring his patients vitals. “I’ve stopped the bleeding.”

 

“I think that’s the least of his problems.” Rocket says, kicking at Peter’s arm on the bed. There’s a bite mark there, the surrounding flesh rotten and green. The same colour travels up Peter’s veins, stopping at his shoulder.

 

Gamora steps forward, elbowing her way through the crowd in the same way that she had pushed away her emotions. She stands beside the bed, lifting the unconscious man’s hand, and examines the bite. “I’ve seen this infection. Thanos subjected a prisoner to it once. It eats at the brain.”

 

“I know it. I can’t treat it here.” Doc’s calm facade cracks slightly. “It needs a special chemical. I can’t even synthesise it…”

 

“Can they treat it on Xandar?” Gamora says.

 

The Krylorian hasn’t even finished nodding before Groot marches in, lifting the unconscious Terran into his arms and marching out of the room, followed by the crew. They pass Drax in the hallway.

 

“Quill?” Drax asks Gamora as she passes him. “What is happening?”

 

“I don’t know how. Peter...they said he just appeared.” Gamora stops, giving herself a chance to breath. “He’s sick. VERY sick. We need to get him to Xandar.”

 

“Not to add to the stress of the moment or anything.” Harris says, still standing in the doorway of the medical room. "But if Quill is HERE, and we will discuss the scientific impossibilities of that later, then where is the Captain?"

 

* * *

 

He lays in the ash and dirt of the ground, eyes wide and unseeing, still.

 

All he can hear is his boy, screaming.

 

“It’s a lie.” He tells himself. Because he has to believe that.

 

He has to believe that Peter is alive.

 

Another scream, and he feels his faith crumble.

 

 


	4. Hide the scars to fade away the shake-up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We can’t play safe, not when the Captain’s life might be at stake.”

The first thing that Peter feels is cold. Not just cold, this is colder than anything he has ever felt before. This is a new level of cold. It’s so cold that it hurts him, a deep ache that sits right in the middle of his bones, throbbing.

 

He wants to scream, but he is too cold to make his lungs work.

 

When he opens his eyes, all he can see is shadow. Some of the shadows are moving, and one has a green hue. This one is the closest, and he thinks it touches him on the shoulder. It burns, the soft substance against his flesh burns like a branding iron and Peter tries to move away from it. Only it moves away from him, and he hears sounds which might be voices.

 

He closes his eyes, and lets the cold carry him away.

 

When he next opens his eyes he isn’t as cold, although he can still feel it prickling his skin and his bones still ache. He opens his eyes to darkness, lowered voices...they must be voices...but he can’t understand a word.

 

The light brightens, and Gamora is there, stood over him. Her lips moving, her voice. But all he can hear is gibberish. He shakes his head.

 

She nods, her face softening as she lifts his hand in both of hers, placing a kiss on the knuckles, and then giving him a smile. She speaks again, her voice barely above a whisper. Drax is stood behind her, and he too speaks. Untranslated his voice is deep, like a rumble.

 

Groot stands at the foot of the bed like a silent guard.

 

Rocket’s voice is a chirp, an actual series of chirping noises like a bird or...well or a raccoon...as he climbs onto the bed. He addresses Peter, then Drax and Gamora. Crosses his arms. Chirps some more. And Peter feels himself drifting.

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean he’s in a coma?”

 

“Mr Obfonteri, your friend was infected with a biological agent that tried to rewrite his DNA, AND had his translator implant ripped out of the base of his skull, IMMEDIATELY followed by teleportation across known space by an unknown force.” The Rainer doctor, Mau’ra, tuts as he consults the readout in his ever present data pad. “The only thing I can attribute his survival thus far to is a miracle. And once again I am dependent on your Krylorian friend’s medical notes because Mr Quill’s physiology is, if I may use the term, quite alien.”

 

“Yeah, I guess they don’t have many books on Terran/Nephilim hybrids.” Kraglin takes a breath and rests a gentle hand on Peter’s arm. This is the second time in a year that he has found himself in this position, watching the Terran sleep, studying him for twitches and other tell tale signs of his mind reacting to the torment it has been put through. He leans forward slightly, brushing the sweat covered fringe away from Peter’s forehead.

 

“I understand that Nova Prime has released news of your Captain’s disappearance. Every outpost in this quadrant will be on alert. If he is anywhere in Nova space, then he will be found.”

 

Kraglin laughs despite himself. “Rescued by Nova Corps. Yondu would love that.” He tucks the blanket around Peter slightly, suddenly unable to see the grown man as anything but the eight year old boy he had befriended all those years ago. “Thanks.”

 

“I will inform you as soon as his condition changes.”

 

It takes Kraglin a moment to process the scene in front of him as he leaves the private medical room. Gamora is sitting on the floor in the corridor outside, her back against the wall, fast asleep. Her legs are laid out flat in front of her, and Doc is using her thigh as a pillow while crashed out on his side on the floor. Giving his position, Kraglin takes it as a testament to how tired Gamora is that Doc still has all four limbs attached.

 

He would give anything to just sit next to them on the floor and sleep as well. He doesn’t think that even his breakdown made him feel this tired, and THAT left him bedridden. But he doesn’t have the luxury at the moment. The Captain of the Eclector is missing, which means that Kraglin, as First Mate, is now the Captain.

 

He takes off the cloak he is wearing (he really should return it to Klo at some point) and covers Doc’s sleeping form with it, then activates his communicator. “It’s me. Any update?”

 

“Actually, yes.” It was Rocket of all people on the other end. “How quickly can you get back up here, Frenemy?”

 

* * *

 

“When Quill appeared on the bridge, the internal sensors picks up a huge energy spike.” Nari brings a wireframe display of the bridge onto the main viewing screen. Sure enough, there is an outline of Peter, surrounded by blue energy.

 

“Managed to get your outside sensors tuned into it.” Rocket says, picking up the narration. “And...there it is.”

 

The screen switched to a view of the Eclector, trailed by a faint blue line.

 

“A trail of breadcrumbs.”

 

Everyone turned to face Drax, including Zeena who was stood next to him, holding his hand.

 

“It is a metaphor.” Drax said, as if explaining to the child. “Do you remember the story I told you from Quill’s world? In which the heroes left a trail of breadcrumbs to find their way back home?”

 

The child nods, as does Groot…which would have amused Rocket had the situation been less dire.

 

“Quill left us a trail to follow.” Klo says. “Leading right to the Captain.”

 

“Or someone sent Peter.” Gamora counters. “To lead us into a trap.”

 

“Princess might be right.” Rocket time lapses the image. “Signature’s been there for over a day. Rate of decay suggests it should have faded by now.”

 

Nari steps in. “But something keeps boosting it. Every four hours.”

 

“Well that could be the Cap’n” Doc says.

 

“Or whoever kidnapped him.” Kraglin uncrosses his arms.

 

“So we are assuming that he has been kidnapped?” Harris says.

 

“Peter was infected with a virus that doesn’t exist in the ‘wild’.” Kraglin says. “Which means it was administered deliberately.”

 

“By a captor.” Klo agrees. “Kraglin is right. Given the information we have, we’ve got to assume that Yondu and Peter were kidnapped. And Yondu still is.”

 

“We haven’t received any hails claiming responsibility.” Nari says.

 

Harris smirks. “So we do not know if kidnapping Yondu is a genuine suicide attempt or a cry for help.”

 

This earns a cheer from the present crew, the reason for which is not lost on the Guardians. None of them would be mad enough to try and kidnap the Eclector captain.

 

“Joking aside.” Kraglin says, although not without a hint of amusement in his voice. “State Quill was in when he got here, we have to assume that Yondu isn’t doing good. Centaurians are immune to the disease Quill had, but that’s only one factor. Nova’s doctor, Mau’ra, reckons that Quill hadn’t eaten  or drank in over a day.”

 

“And there is no way that Yondu would have eaten or drank ANYTHING without giving Quill the larger share.” Klo says.

 

“Add time for Quill being here.” Nari sits down in a vacant chair. “So the Captain’s probably been without sustenance for nearly seventy two hours.”

 

“How long can a Centaurian go without food or water?” Kraglin turns to Doc.

 

“Centaurian metabolism is geared towards a feast of famine lifestyle.” The Krylorian explains. “They have been known to go a month without food and recover. But he wont last more than a week without water, and that long will have long term effects on his health.”

 

“Well then why are we not following this trail already?” Klo says.

 

Drax turns to face him. “Because as my furry friend said with the help of your Rainer colleague, someone is trying to lead us into a trap.”

 

“Less of the furry friend, you.” Rocket says, his hands on his hips.

 

“We can’t play safe, not when the Captain’s life might be at stake.” Kraglin speaks before he has really had a chance to think. Would Yondu want him to risk to Eclector and her crew. He looks at each member of the crew, finishing on Zeena who looks back at him with wide eyes.

 

Screw what Yondu might want.

 

“Let’s go get our Captain back.”

 

“Not me.” Doc says, looking at the ground. “Star Lord’s still sick and Xandarian’s don’t know a thing about his biology. Whereas I’VE known him since Yondu gave me my first scanner.”

 

“I will stay too.” Gamora says, stepping forward. “To...help.”

 

“Well rest of us are tagging along.” Rocket says, gaze turning from Groot to Drax. “You guys helped us on Xandar, and got Quill back from Thanos. Now we’re going to help you rescue the big guy.”

 

“Agreed.” Drax nods.

 

“I am Groot.”

 

“Take Milano back down.” Kraglin says to Gamora and Doc. “Rest of us, well Nari you heard Klo. Why are we not following that trail already?”

 

 


	5. No right, no wrong, no rules for me I'm free!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Gamora can only let out an anguished cry as the empty clothes fall from her arms.

When Peter wakes up again his vision is still blurred and his hearing makes everything sound like it is coming through water. It takes a few moments, during which a green blur holds a cup of water to his lips, and a pink blur fusses over medical instruments (at least he HOPES that they are medical instruments) for his mind to finish waking up and engage his senses to a level in which they can be classed as useful. Although getting his hearing back proves to be a non-event.

 

This isn’t Peter’s first rodeo when it came to his translator implant give out on him. It isn’t even his first time with Gamora. Getting zapped mercilessly by the guards on The Kyln had sent the thing into an hour long reset (along with Peter’s central nervous system) and he had learned that untranslated Gamora had a very deep, calm voice. She seemed to humm each word of her Zehoberi language as if it was part of a meditative chant, and it reminded Peter of Yondu taking him to see the Monks of Shao-Lom as a child.

 

YONDU!

 

He sits up quickly, and feels something pull against his stomach. One of the machines surrounding him starts to beep frantically and voices shout gibberish while Gamora gently presses against his chest to lay him back down.

 

“No. Where’s Yondu?”

 

Gamora’s lips thin to a line. She looks towards Doc and Mau’ra the Rainer doctor. Which means that Peter is on Xandar. How did he get…

 

And then he remembers.

 

When Gamora looks back at Peter, her face is softer. She gives him a sad smile, and shakes her head.

 

“No.” The memories hit Peter in an instant. Abduction. Pain. Heat. Danger. And the creatures. The creatures that had once had identities and emotions and dreams, only for all that to be reduced to nothing. A decaying carcass that had yet to realise that it was dead, and so kept walking. Kept moving. Chasing. Biting.

 

He looks to his bandaged arm. Holds the wound. Presses it until it hurts, and Gamora has to stop him, holding both of his hands within her own. But he doesn’t look at her. Or Doc. Or Mau’ra.

 

He had left Yondu behind.

 

* * *

 

Yondu has a short reprieve. Even all powerful megalomaniacs need to sleep, and Mu’Rel is no different. It gives Yondu a moment to function with a clear head, or as clear as he can manage when functioning on three hours sleep and zero water.

 

It would be so easy right now. So easy to just lay down and give in, to sleep out here in the open where anyone or anything could find him and end everything with a bite to his throat. And a part of Yondu will probably welcome it when it inevitably happens. But he can't afford to give in. If Mu’Rel is telling the truth, and is holding Peter captive, then he has to find a way to rescue him.

 

"But it's a lie." He tells himself, his hoarse voice harsh.

 

He collapses into a small crack in the mountain wall beside him, allowing his shattered body a few moments reprieve while he sorts through what he is carrying. His hands settle on something hard and smooth, and he gently pulls Peter’s precious walkman out of the bag, the cable for the headphones trailing behind it. He plays the tape, listening as the Terran music pours out through the headset inside the bag.

 

A part of him imagines that maybe Mu’Rel is still watching him even in sleep, and that if he is then perhaps Peter is as well. And can hear the music. Despite everything, the thought makes the Captain smile, and he leaves the walkman running, soon humming along to the dulcet tones of The Runaways. He doesn’t wear the headphones though. He needs to be able to hear the world around him.

 

And as if the world needed a reason to remind him why, he hears the footsteps. The moans. That sickening rotten smell hits him, and he lays his head against the rock, eyes closed.

 

He takes the yakka arrow from its sheath, lifting it to the air with a shaky hand.

 

He feels the cold shadow pass over his face, and whistles. The arrow slices through the head of the creature as if it isn’t even there, continuing off into the distance before turning a smooth circle and landing back in Yondu’s waiting grip. He kicks what remains of the creature away from the door, and pulls himself out into the open. “Ain’t you bored yet Mu’Rel, you bastard? I got fed up with this yesterday.”

 

He looks up at the wall that he was, until a moment ago, hiding inside of. The rock is sharper here, and the jagged results serve as a ladder to the surface. Quiet music still playing inside his bag, Yondu tests the first “rung” of the ladder for strength, and then pulls himself up, and on to the second, and the third. If he can get to higher ground, he might be able to see his ship.

 

Or the place where the bastard Mu’Rel is hiding.

 

Yondu is no fool. Mu’Rel is most likely on a ship in orbit of the planet, but he has to keep telling himself these things. Mu’Rel is on the planet where he can be found (and killed). Peter is safe. Yondu’s ship has to be somewhere around here. All is not lost.

 

It is the fifth rung of the ladder that betrays him, crumbling under his weight and sending his already weakened body into a freefall. He lands hard on the ground below, his head swimming as pain and nausea pulsates through his body in alternating waves that make him want to scream one second and vomit the next. He does neither. He’s not about to give Mu’Rel that satisfaction, or Peter the belief that Yondu is giving up.

 

He pulls himself up using the rock. He has to...and falls against the rock...more footsteps. That smell. He coughs, the nausea almost paralysing. He stands, takes the arrow. He doesn’t have the strength to whistle, but it makes a good enough knife as he fights off the now blurred monster, sending the arrow deep into its temple. The blood is hot as it spurts over his hand. He pulls the arrow off, wipes it clean on his coat out of habit. “WHO’S NEXT!”

 

He stumbles like a drunk man, and can feel blood pooling against the nape of his neck. More of the creatures are on top of him, and somewhere in the foray Yondu drops the arrow. Resorts to punches and kicks. Grabbing a nearby rock and throwing it against skulls.

 

He drops that and falls with it to the floor. And they are on top of him.

 

And the last thing he hears is the music in his bag.

 

* * *

 

Peter stands in the corridor, looking out of the hospital window at the city below them. The sun has just come up and Xandar is waking up with it.

 

He turns at the sound of footsteps, and smiles at Gamora as she comes to stand beside him, resting a hand against the spot between his shoulder blades. She says something, nodding out towards the world.

 

The Terran nods, simply for the need to feel that he is acknowledging her talking. He doesn't understand a word.

 

He yawns. Peter has had enough sleep, enough to eat, and drunk his own body weight in water. But he still feels tired. He thinks he always will.

 

Gamora’s smile widens, and she chuckles, saying something else.

 

“Are you teasing me?” Peter mutters, joining her smile before letting the reality of the situation sink back in again. He sighs, and rests a hand on the window. He’s been able to understand enough to know that the Eclector have gone after Yondu, but they had no idea how long it would take them to get to wherever he was being held.

 

To where Peter had abandoned him.

 

Gamora is saying something intently, perhaps telling Peter not to blame himself, that there was nothing he could have done, that Yondu had told him to go back to Xandar. That by doing so he has enabled the Eclector to find him. He knows this. He told Gamora and Doc this.

 

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything. And what is he supposed to do now. Just sit here, twiddling his thumbs while hoping against hope that Kraglin and the others were successful.

 

Gamora’s hand moves to his shoulder, and she pulls him into a tight embrace. He holds her in return, breathing in the scent of her hair, letting himself have this moment of feeling safe while he closes his eyes, and thinks. Concentrates.

 

Gamora says something, and Peter shakes his head, leaning back ever so slightly so that he can whisper into her ear.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

And Gamora can only let out an anguished cry as the empty clothes fall from her arms.

 

* * *

 

Even with his eyes closed, Yondu sees the bright flash of white light, and a feeling of force pushing against him. If he was not already on the ground, he thinks it would have knocked him over. He hears as the creatures are felled by it.

 

The world seems to fade for a while, then there is the sound of fighting. A thud, and then another. The creatures leave him and wander to somewhere in the distance, and as his eyes open a crack Yondu can see the figure fighting them off. Carrying a knife that was probably scavenged from one of the monsters around him. His skin is covered in scratches, and on his arm a bite wound shines with moisture.

 

But he is strong. He’s had the food and water that Yondu has not. He’s rested properly, and the small group of monsters are no match for him. It isn’t long before their moans fade and all that can be heard is David Bowie singing inside the bag. The juxtaposition makes Yondu want to laugh, and it is the last bit of distraction that his mind needs to let go completely.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes, Yondu is sat up against the wall. The bag is open next to him and Peter is finishing dressing, sheathing his scavenged knife next to his own. When he notices that Yondu is awake he falls to his knees next to him, hands on his shoulder as he looks into his eyes for signs of a more serious injury to his head.

 

Yondu looks past him to the strewn mess of corpses. “That’s my boy. Knew that bastard was lying this time.”

 

Peter smiles, but then shakes his head, pointing at the back of his own neck and to the translator implant, fallen from the bag where Yondu had put it earlier.

 

Yondu nods, before grabbing his boy by the shoulders and pulling him down so that they can hold their foreheads together.

 

He doesn’t need words to communicate with Peter. He never has.

 

-

 

 


	6. I'll just stay a victim If I can for sure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘DOES IT HURT? WATCHING HIM DIE.’

‘DEAD?’ Mu’Rel turns, eyes fixed on Yondu as he descends the ornate staircase leading to his throne.

 

Because of course the jackass has a fucking throne, Yondu thinks to himself.

 

“Kid got sick.” Horuz says, looking to the Captain and then back at Mu’Rel. “Started coughing up blood a couple of months into the trip. Show him Kraglin.”

 

Kraglin steps forward, carrying in his hands the bloodstained red and black checkered coat that Peter had been wearing when he was abducted. The teen is crying, actually crying, as he hands the coat over, and Yondu makes a mental note to get the kid some Xandarian chocolate when they are done, because he is selling this right now.

 

Mu’Rel snatches the coat from Kraglin, who jerks backwards into Horuz. The taller man places a hand on each of the boy’s shoulders.

 

“See.” The older Xandarian says. “Coughed up so much of the stuff that he choked on it.”

 

Mu’Rel sniffs the coat. ‘THIS IS INDEED TERRAN BLOOD.’

 

“We’d understand if you want to forgo payment, but we reckon that it weren’t us that damaged the cargo.” Yondu places his hands on his hips. “And we tried to save the boy. Medics worked round the clock. They said afterwards that he had been kicked and punched so much that he was broken when he came onboard.”

 

‘SO MY SON DIED OF THE PUNISHMENTS THAT HE EARNED.’ Mu’Rel throws the coat back at Kraglin, who catches it and hugs it to himself. ‘HE WAS WEAK.’

 

Kraglin shook his head. “He’s not weak…” The hands on his shoulders tighten and he falls silence, looking down at the ground.

 

‘WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THE SHELL?’

 

“Chucked him out into space. Had to think about the health of my crew.” Yondu stepped forward. “Got a Vanir with us. He gave him a proper send off.”

 

‘MORE THAN HE DESERVED.’ Horus tightened his grip on Kraglin again as he felt the boy tremble. ‘YOU WILL RECEIVE YOUR PAYMENT, YONDU UDONTA. MY SON’S WEAKNESS WAS NO FAULT OF YOURS.’

 

“Awfully good of you, Mu’Rel.” He turns to Horuz and Kraglin. “Ain’t that good of him boys?”

 

Horus nods, and then gently kicks the back of Kraglin’s foot. The boy nods as well, eyes fixed on the ground.

 

“Well then we’ll be taking our payment and being on our way.” Yondu lowers his voice. “You want any of his personal effects? Keepsakes?”

 

‘THEY ARE YOURS TO DO WITH AS YOU WISH.’

 

“Pleasure doing business with you.” Yondu waited for Horuz and Kraglin to leave, and then marched out after them. No one said a word until they were back on the Eclector.

 

Peter was waiting for them in the hangar bay. “Can I have my coat back now?”

 

“You sure you want it back?” Kraglin says, holding up the blood stained garment.

 

“Gotta hand it to The Broker.” Yondu says to Horuz. “That damn synthetic blood he got us even SMELLED Terran.”

 

“What are we going to do if Mu’Rel realises we lied to him?” Horuz says, keeping his voice low for the benefit of the two boys studying the blood stains on the coat with a gory fascination that only youngsters could possess.

 

“Ain’t coming to that bridge, Horuz. Let’s worry about it if we do.” Yondu smiled and turned back to face the boys. “RIGHT. I’m seeing a lot of talking and not much fighting practice.”

 

“Oh come on Yondu.” Kraglin said, ignoring Peter’s excited cry.

 

“You made a promise to him. Said you teach him to fight. You someone who breaks their promises, Kraglin.”

 

“No.” Kraglin sighs, rolls his eyes, and pulls Peter out of the hangar by the scruff of his neck.

 

“You know it as well as I do.” Horuz kept his arms crossed. “This is going to come back and bite us in the ass one day.”

 

“That don’t mean we didn’t do the right thing.”

 

* * *

 

It was getting dark, or as close to dark as a planet stuck in a tri-star system could get.

 

“We just have to hold on.” Peter says, looking up at the sky before turning back to his mentor, sat listless against the cliff face. “Eclector’s on her way. We just have to hang on.”

 

Yondu opens his eyes, teeth gritted. “Trayo, bach.”

 

“No idea what you are saying, remember.” Peter says, smiling despite himself.

 

Yondu nods, eyes closed. “Deen gobod, bach.”

 

Peter takes a deep breath, looking away while he school his expression. He is worried out of his mind, but he doesn’t want Yondu to see that. He looks back, the same smile fixed on his face. “Eclector’s fast. I bet she’s less than a day away.”

 

Yondu nods, and his head falls to the side as he passes out.

 

“Yondu?” Peter checks the Centaurian’s pulse, the relief feeling like a physical blow when he finds it. “You’ve got to hang on. Please. You have to hang on. I know you. You won’t let this beat you. You can’t.”

 

But Yondu doesn’t wake up.

 

* * *

 

“Eyes still closed, Boy?”

 

“Doesn’t matter, does it. You’re covering them with your hands.” The teenager says, laughing as he makes his way forward, hands sweeping left and right to check for obstacles. “Come on Yondu, give it up. I already know what it is.”

 

“Oh do you know?”

 

“It’s an M-Ship, I’m sixteen now.” Peter says, laughing.

 

“Well maybe it ain’t an M-Ship. Maybe I just got you a Junk Hauler.”

 

“You wouldn’t dare.” The blind teen says.

 

“Oh wouldn’t I?” Yondu said, taking his hands away from Peter’s eyes as they walk into the hangar.

 

“That’s no junk hauler. That’s Milano.”

 

“Milano?”

 

“That’s what I’m going to call her. Had it picked out since I was twelve.”

 

“You’ve named your M-Ship, boy?” Yondu says, his voice laced with confusion.

 

“What’s wrong with that. Eclector has a name?”

 

“Only so she has a call sign for the fleet, Quill. M-Ships, their call sign is the pilot.”

 

“Well, my call sign is going to be Milano.” Peter says, turning away from Yondu so he can look up at the ship before him. “She’s beautiful.”

 

“The ship or the girl you name her after?”

 

“How’d you know I named her after a girl?”

 

“I know you.” Yondu says, giving Peter a wink before turning back to the ship. “So, you ready to learn how to pilot her?”

 

* * *

 

‘DOES IT HURT? WATCHING HIM DIE.’

 

Peter falls backwards into a sitting position, frantically looking left and right for the source of the voice in his mind. “Who's there?”

 

‘I MUST COMMEND YOU THIS AT LEAST. IT TOOK ME A LONG TIME TO GAIN ACCESS TO YOUR MIND. THERE, AT LEAST, YOU HAVE THE STRENGTH OF YOUR FATHER.’

 

“Who are you?” Peter said, standing and positioning himself as much as possible between Yondu and the outside world, their invisible foe.

 

‘YOU DON’T REMEMBER ME. SURPRISING. BUT PERHAPS IT SHOULD NOT BE SO. YOU WERE SO SMALL WHEN WE LAST MET.’

 

And Peter feels the fear start in his feet, his legs, his torso. It seems like his whole body is trembling with the onset of terror. “Murray.”

 

‘HELLO, SON.’

 

Peter shakes his head. “What...No...It’s not...you were…Yondu said...”

 

“HE SAID I WAS TERRAN. STUCK ON TERRA. TRAPPED FROM YOU.’ Mu’Rel says, arrogant laughter in his voice. ‘HE TOLD YOU YOU WERE SAFE TO BE YOUR WEAK, PATHETIC SELF. AND THAT IS WHAT YOU BECAME, WITHOUT MY GUIDANCE.’

 

“What do you want from me?”

 

‘FROM YOU. ONLY YOUR SCREAMS. YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME, NOW, EXCEPT A MEANS TO AN END. A SOURCE OF AMUSEMENT. I DISOWNED YOU YEARS AGO, AND OF IT I AM GLAD.’

 

“And what happens when I scream?”

 

‘THEN YONDU HEARS IT.’

 

“Then I wont. I won't scream. I’m stronger than anything you can throw at me. I learned that from experience.”

 

‘YOU HAVE EXPERIENCED NOTHING.’

 

Peter feels the moment his feet leave the ground, lifting him up, his arms and legs held wide like a child caught in the middle of jumping jacks. He struggles, but has not even the smallest amount of strength against the alien holding him high, above, helpless.

 

‘YOUR BLOOD IS SWEET TO THEM.’ Mu’Rel says, and Peter cries out as his hip bone is sliced into, blood gushing from the wound created. It pours down the Terran’s leg.

 

Yondu, as awake as he can be, grabs his arrow and struggles to bridge the gap between himself and Peter.

 

‘YOU MAY BE IMMUNE TO THEIR VIRUS NOW, BUT YOU CAN STILL FEED THEM. WHILE HE WATCHES.’

 

Yondu and Peter hear them at the same time. The footsteps. The moans.

 

‘OR PERHAPS, YOU SHOULD WATCH YOUR PRECIOUS YONDU DIE. WHILE HELPLESS. OR HE YOU. OH HOW FRUSTRATING THOSE DECISIONS WE CAN ONLY MAKE THE ONCE.’ Mu’Rel’s voice rumbles in both their minds, clearly amused by the dilemma before him.

 

“Let him go.” Yondu moans, barely conscious. And then the cries out as a similar wound appears on his hip, blue blood pouring down his leg.

 

‘LET THE DECISION MAKE ITSELF.’

 

Peter shakes his head as he is lifted off of the ground, helpless against the monsters shuffling towards them. “Yondu?”

 

Yondu can feel the beginning of a panic attack in his exhausted body. It sickens him further. “Let him go, Mu’Rel.”

 

‘NOT UNTIL YOU HAVE WATCHED EACH OTHER DIE.’

 

-

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for those wondering, Yondu's untranslated words are deliberately misspelt Cymraeg (Welsh language) phrases. 
> 
> Trayo, bach = Trio Bach, =Trio means "trying". Bach, meaning 'small', is often used as a pet name. So he is saying "I'm trying, boy."
> 
> Deen gobod, bach = Dw i'n gwybod = "I know." And again, Bach. Because I am willing to bet that if they ever dubbed GotG into Cymraeg, boy will become Bach :-) So, "I know, boy."


	7. 10th patriot at the gallow's pole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Believe in yourself, Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is gifted to Keyrousse and their awesome writer block breaking powers of writer block breaking :-)

“I am Groot?”

 

He finds Kraglin sat on the bench in the observation room, knees drawn to his chest as he looks out on the passing stars. Eclector can’t go much faster without tearing herself apart, and they can both feel the vibration through the floor beneath them.

 

“I’m fine. Just needed a minute to think.” The Xandarian says quietly, rubbing at one of his arms. Recognising the gesture for what it is, Groot sits beside him, hands rested on his knees as he too looks out into space.

 

“I’m leading this crew into a trap, ain’t I?”

 

“I am Groot.” The taller man says, nodding.

 

“And they’re following me. They’re following me without question and I don’t even know why.”

 

“I...am Groot.”

 

He laughs. “I thought little Zeena was the Captain now.”

 

The taller man nods, and returns the smile. It fades as soon as the Xandarian’s does.

 

“What if I get them all killed?” He mutters. “What if...Yondu and Quill. What if I let them down?”

 

“I am Groot.”

 

“Thanks.” His expression makes it clear that he isn’t convinced, but he gives Groot a nod of acknowledgement anyway, before standing. “That’s if we ever get there. Damn trail seems to be taking us into the middle of…”

 

“Hey Frenemy?” Rocket’s voice chimes in over the ship’s communications. “You better get up here. That energy reading, it’s ON the bridge. Something’s breaking through”.

 

* * *

 

Time seems to stop for Peter. It’s the infinity stone all over again, only now there is ice instead of fire. The energy is visible, surrounding them and holding them both in place in a whirlwind of white light that renders the approaching monsters to shadowy spectres, reaching out through the fog.

 

He can hear Yondu shouting, arm outstretched towards him like the spectres, death, on either side. Peter can’t move, and God knows he tries. He sucks air through his teeth and feels it freeze in his lungs. He has to move. He has to MOVE.

 

He can’t help the memories that flood his brain. Thanos leering down at him, playing with him as he might a tortured, broken toy. A toy. That was Peter had been. All that he was now.

 

“NO!” He screams into the void. Yondu is almost unconscious in front of him, days of famine, drought and now this taking his body to the brink of what he can stand. It’s up to Peter. It’s his turn to rescue Yondu, the way Yondu rescued him. So many times.

 

He just has to move.

 

“Believe in yourself, Peter.”

 

“Mom?”

 

“DADDY!”

 

“Meredith.” Grandpa Quill turns, his face the picture of someone caught doing something that they shouldn’t be. “Sweetheart you should be resting. The Doctor said…”

 

“Never mind what the Doctor said.” The fatigue in Meredith’s voice just about outweighs her genuine anger. She pulls the blanket tighter around her pyjama clad form, and indicates Peter with a nod. “I’ll rest when you tell me why my seven year old is holding an air rifle.”

 

“Mom, Grandpa’s going to take me on a hunt.”

 

“Is that so.” If looks could kill, then Meredith would have just slain her father ten times over.

 

“Uh…” Grandpa places a gentle hand on Peter’s head, and turns him back to face down the makeshift shooting range. “I’m not taking anyone hunting who can’t shoot five tins off the wall in five shots.”

 

Meredith looks back at the wall. All five tins are still in place, and she definitely heard two shots. Oh dear.

 

“I’m trying.” Peter said, looking at the rifle. His Grandpa pats Peter on the shoulder, and then gestures for Meredith to step back. Still clearly angry, she does as she is told, and Peter tries another shot.

 

Dust flies from the wall as the bullet hits it, and all five tins stay in place. The clearly disappointed boy lowers the rifle to the ground, not making a sound.

 

“You were a bit closer that time, Peter.” Grandpa says. “You just went into the shot a little too fast.”

 

“A word, Daddy?” Meredith says, indicating with a sideways nod that they are to move away from the boy for a moment. As soon as they are out of earshot, she whispers to the older man. “You are NOT taking my little boy on a hunt.”

 

“Meredith, he’s been going on and on about it for weeks…”

 

“You know how I feel about hunting.”

 

“I’m not crazy, Meredith. He’s seven. It’ll be a play hunt.” He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No kills, scouts honour.” He winks at his daughter, and turns back to the boy. “Right. Ready for another go?”

 

“I can’t do it.” Peter says, shaking his head sadly and looking at the rifle as if it is the source of everything that is wrong with his world, up to and including his Mother being sick. “Sorry.”

 

“Hey.” Meredith smiles and kneels down beside her son. “You can do anything you put your mind to, Peter. You just have to believe in yourself.”

 

He looks at her. “Anything?”

 

“Anything.”

 

“Can I drive a car?”

 

“When you’re old enough.”

 

“Can I rule the world?”

 

She laughs. “Maybe.”

 

“Can I fly?”

 

“You can do anything.” She ruffles his hair, and drops her voice to a whisper. “Just take a breath, and take your time, and believe that you can do it.”

 

Peter nods, and waits for his mother to step back. He takes a breath, and slowly lets it out the way he was shown, while raising the rifle.

 

“Believe in yourself, Peter.”

 

The boy focuses on his target, squeezes the trigger, and watches the tin fly off of the wall.

 

Peter reaches out, grabs Yondu’s hand, and the white light around them becomes even brighter. A force. The spectres fade, become misshapen and deformed, and then fly backwards as the light explodes around the Terran and his Mentor. Peter pulls at the hand in his, pulling Yondu against him and concentrating. Believing.

 

‘NO. HOW? YOU ARE MORTAL.’

 

Peter laughs. He’s heard THAT before...

 

And the light consumes them both.

 

* * *

 

When Peter opens his eyes he is eight years old, wearing the outfit he was wearing when Yondu abducted him all those years ago. There is a bruise around his eye, and he touches it with the tips of his fingers as he stands.

 

He is stood in a white, featureless void, alone.

 

‘HOW ARE YOU HERE?’ The Nephilim says, his voice echoing around the empty void. Peter swings round to look at him, seeing his father’s true form for the first time. His skin is laced with energy, almost as if he is composed of the pure light, and his eyes are red. ‘YOU BROKE INTO MY MIND.’

 

“Guess you let your guard down.” Little Peter says, standing as tall as his eight year old self can manage. He looks down at his hand and sees the same energy that makes up the man stood before him, only laced with purple. “See that. Surviving the Infinity stone’s made me stronger than you’ll ever be. I don’t have to be afraid of you or ANYTHING anymore. I NEVER had to be afraid of you.”

 

‘WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO CONVINCE?’

 

Little Peter opens his closed fist, revealing the build up of white and purple energy that throws Mu’Rel across the void. He lands, rolls, and looks back up at his son, an adult man again.

 

Adult Peter looks down at his Ravager garb, and then back at Mu’Rel. “That answer your question?” He then takes a breath, and throws another bolt of energy at the Nephilim.

 

This time Mu’Rel is ready, catching the energy as if it is a toy ball and watching it dissipate in his hand. As he does so, the energy making up his own form dims. “YOU ARE A FOOL IF YOU THINK THAT YOUR HALFLING ENERGY, EVEN WHEN ENHANCED, CAN DEFEAT ME.”

 

“I’m not trying to defeat you.” Peter smiles. “I only need to distract you.”

 

‘NOOOOOO!’

 

* * *

 

“Is there anything we can do to stabilise it?” Kraglin shouted, turning to Rocket.

 

“Stabilize it? What do you want to stabilize it for? We don’t even know what’s trying to come through it!”

 

Harris shook his head. “These are exactly the same energy readings that we saw before Quill…”

 

The white light turns a shade of purple and then EXPLODES across the bridge, and both Peter and Yondu fell from mid air to the floor.

 

“...appeared out of nowhere in the middle on the bridge.” Harris sits down. “Continuing with that topic. Captain is on the bridge.”

 

“Well.” Rocket shrugs. “At least they’re wearing clothes this time.”

 

Little Zeena is the first to react, running up to Yondu and barely giving him a chance to finish standing before she is wrapped around his neck and torso.

 

“Hey there, Little Space Pirate.” He mutters, his voice holding almost no strength at all even as he stands, holding Zeena against him. He turns and looks down at Peter, who is laid on his side on the floor, one hand clutching at his side but otherwise seemingly unaware of his surroundings..

 

“How?” Kraglin kneels down in front of Quill. He then turns to Drax as the Warrior approaches. “Can you take them to the medical bay..”

 

Drax nods, lifts Peter as if he is weightless, and leads the small party off the bridge. Nari follows them. With Doc stuck on Xandar she is the closest thing they have to a medic for the moment.

 

“Well, we rescued them.” Harris says. “I have to admit, I am a little bit disappointed with how easy that was.”

 

“I doubt if the Captain or Quill would agree that it was easy.” Klo counters, eyes still fixed on the spot where the pair had appeared just moments ago. “So...Quill can actually teleport? Anyone else really freaked out about this?”

 

Kraglin, Harris and Groot all raise their hands.

 

“It ain’t over yet.” Says Rocket, the only one still looking at the scanner display until he speaks.

 

“What’s happening?”

 

“Well, Quill’s just doubled the energy spikes, and they’re both increasing ten fold a second.”

 

“Something else is coming through?” Kraglin and Klo both grab their weapons, aiming them at the spot on the bridge where Quill appeared.

 

Rocket shakes his head. “Ain’t something coming to us. It’s something bringing us to…”

 

And everyone is thrown against the far wall as the Eclector suddenly accelerates to unspeakable speeds.

 

 


	8. Jar of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry, Quill.”

BANG BANG BANG

 

“No…” Kraglin groans, turning onto his side in the bunk.

 

BANG BANG BANG

 

“It’s the middle of the night.”

 

BANG BANG BANG

 

Grabbing his side arm, Kraglin crosses the room and opens the door, bringing the pistol up to eye level of Peter as he stands grinning on the other side.

 

“Good, you’re awake.” Peter says, completely unfazed by the pistol in his face. “Need a favour?”

 

Rolling his eyes in frustration, Kraglin lowered the pistol. “And it couldn’t wait till morning?”

 

“You know Yondu’s sending us to get this trinket on Morag.”

 

“No, I’d completely forgotten about that.” Kraglin says, sarcastically.

 

“Well. You think maybe you...COULD...forget about it?” Peter says. “I mean, it’s only a retrieval mission. I could do that with my eyes shut. And Morag’s a dead world. You’d get bored like...super quick...and it’s full of those orloni critters that you hate and…”

 

“What’s her name, Peter?”

 

“Bereet.” He holds his hands together in a prayer gesture. “Her name is Bereet.”

 

“Does Bereet have tentacles?”

 

“That was ONE TIME! And no, she is a Krylorian.”

 

“Oh dear.” Kraglin forces a cough. “I have suddenly come down with a case of Ruul flu. What a shame.” He steps back into his room, and closes the door.

 

“Owe you one, man.” Peter calls through the door.

 

“Goodnight, Quill.”

 

* * *

 

It is only thanks to Drax’s quick reflexes that Nari doesn't break her neck against the hull as the ship lurches. The turbulence stops as quickly as it began, and an alarm sounds deep within the ship.

 

“What the hell is Kraglin doing up there?” She shouts as she activates the scanners in the medical bay.

 

“Get me back on that bridge.” From his bed in the corner, Yondu starts to rise, only for Zeena to grab his hand and shake her head.

 

“You can barely stand, Captain.” Nari says.

 

“The whore is right, you must rest.” Drax nods.

 

“Who are you calling a…” At that point, Nari is distracted by the results of her scans of the unconscious Terran in the other bed. “That can’t be...no.”

 

“What is it?” This time even Zeena’s protests can’t stop Yondu from leaving the bed, stumbling over to the centre of the medical room.

 

“Peter...he’s.” Nari stepped back, glassy eyes fixed on Peter. “His brain is still operating all life preserving functions but...there’s no other activity, there’s no…”

 

Yondu raises a hand to stop her, his face stern. “Mu’Rel.”

 

The silence that follows is shattered by Drax denting the hull with his fist.

 

* * *

 

“Peter.”

 

“Bereet?” Peter looks from left to right in the dreamscape. If you had asked him how he got here, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. “What? Where am I?”

 

She smiles. “Did you really forget that I was here?”

 

And suddenly, they are on the Millano. The mix tape plays in the background, and he can smell coffee. He was making her coffee. Yes, he remembers now.

 

“Coffee. Coming right up.” He grabs a mug for her and pours the liquid in, stirring in a couple of sugars before passing it to her and making his way to the other side of the table. The news plays over the communication console, and he starts scanning his database for a film.

 

Except he never finds a film. Something stops him. What is it?

 

“Peter?”

 

He turns back to face Bereet, only it isn’t Bereet anymore. It’s his Mom.

 

“He’s distracting you Peter.”

 

* * *

 

Peter’s on the bridge of the Eclector, except he isn’t really there. He realises that the moment that Harris runs THROUGH him.

 

“We’re being dragged into the planet.” Rocket shouts.

 

“Thrusters can’t compensate.”

 

Kraglin turns to the Luphomoid. “Tell the engine room to…”

 

“If they increase the power anymore we will explode.” Harris shouts back.

 

Kraglin looks back at the readings. “M-Ships?”

 

“No sign of the fleet.” Rocket says. “I think we left them back there.”

 

“Or worse.” Harris mutters.

 

Peter turns at the sound of laughing. Mu’Rel, stood unseen at the back of the bridge. Peter doesn’t think, or hesitate. He RUNS at the man, catching him unawares and sending them both into, and through, the hull. When they land they are back in the white void of the dreamscape, and Mu’Rel laughs as he pushes Peter off of him, sending the Terran flying across the scape as if he weighs nothing.

 

Peter lands hard, but uninjured. He stands quickly, focusing on building up another ball of energy but quickly abandoning the attempt in favour of dodging the one thrown by Mu’Rel. Both men start again, but Mu’Rel is faster and Peter must dodge him again.

 

Peter shoulder rolls into a standing position, already building up his energy while moving. He stands and throws the bolt with the same momentum, but Mu’Rel catches it and crushes it in his fist.

 

Screaming, Peter throws himself at the man again, sending them both crashing to the ground.

 

And he realises that even as he is here, he is also on the Eclector.

 

* * *

 

Kraglin can feel the panic clutching at him like a vice grip on his heart and abdomen, but he ignores it as best he can, instead using the adrenaline to focus on the situation. The planet grows in the view portal in front of them, so close now that he can see the finer details of the volcanic surface.

 

Volcanic. And uninhabited.

 

“Get a warhead ready.”

 

“What?” Klo grabs Kraglin’s shoulder. “That’s a planet, Kraglin. We could throw everything we have at it and not destroy it.”

 

“We don’t need to destroy it. We just need to trigger the tectonics over the energy source.”

 

“Oh.” Klo smiles, and heads to the back of the bridge.

 

“So you’re a scientist now?” Rocket says, still darting across his own sensor screen like a thing possessed as he updates his readings.

 

“When it comes to blowing things up.” Kraglin sits in the forward chair as the weapons console came alive, using Rocket’s readings to pick his target.

 

“Warhead’s ready.” Klo shouts from the back of the bridge.

 

“STOP!” Nari skids onto the bridge, eyes still glassy. “Peter’s still there. His mind is still connected to the planet.”

 

Kraglin’s hand falls away from the weapons console, and he looks up at the planet.

 

He can’t see the spectre to his left, Peter also looking at the planet, before turning back to the Xandarian.

 

“I’ve got him distracted.” Peter mutters. “Now’s your chance.”

 

“We’re hitting the atmosphere.” Rocket’s voice can barely be heard against the white noise in Kraglin’s ears. The edges of the viewing port burn as the atmosphere impacts the falling ship, and Kraglin reaches out for the console again, one eye flicking up to a readout of the ship. Each blinking dot a member of the crew on board the Eclector.

 

“Kraglin?” Nari shakes her head, but he can’t see her. Or anything. His eyes are closed as he presses down on the console.

 

“I’m sorry, Quill.”

 

The warhead hits the planet, and a moment later the chain reaction starts. Fire spreads from the vocal point. Rock flies into the air, lava spews.

 

From a distance, it is almost beautiful.

 

“We’re free.” Rocket shouts.

 

Harris nods. “Initiating reverse thrusters.”

 

Kraglin turns away from the view, and looks up to make eye contact with Yondu, stood in the doorway of the bridge, his gaze as equally fixed on the Xandarian as his is on the Centaurian.

 

Kraglin looks away first.

 

* * *

 

‘NOOOOOO.’

 

“End of the line.” Peter says, stepping backwards away from Mu’Rel as the dreamscape collapses around them.

 

‘YOU!’ Mu’Rel charges at the Terran, but Peter grabs him, holding him at arms length as the ground opens into fissures around them. ‘YOU WILL NEVER DEFEAT ME. YOU ARE WEAK.’

 

Peter grits his teeth as the strain hits him. Mu’Rel is strong, but Peter can feel his own strength building, as the effects of the infinity stone build up within his mental projection. He is able to push against Mu’Rel, and finally, he is able to throw him.

 

He falls to the ground, watching over the rim as Mu’Rel falls into the fissure of the collapsing dreamscape.

 

“You’re weaker.” Peter rolls away from the fissure, lying on his back in the middle of the chaos, looking up at the sky and waiting.

 

Waiting.

 

Until he feels the pull of the energy connecting him to home.

 

* * *

 

“Is it true that there are other planets around the stars?” Little Peter says, eyes fixed on the sky.

 

His mother kneels down next to him, placing a hand on each of his shoulders. “Yes. There are thousands of worlds out there, Peter.”

 

“Do they all have people on them?”

 

“Not all of them. But some of them might?”

 

“I’d like to go to one of them, one day.” He looks at his mother, and smiles. “Will you come with me?"

 

She doesn’t return the smile, instead moving her hand to cup his cheek. “Maybe your Daddy will take you, when you’re older.”

 

“I wish I could go right now.”

 

“But you can.” She leans forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Close your eyes, Peter. Imagine yourself there.”

 

And he does.

 

 


	9. My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want to be friends, Peter Jason Quill?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE. Additional TW tags added from this chapter. Implied/Referenced Self-Harm. Implied/Referenced Suicide.

The light from the tractor beam fades and everyone runs into the M-Ship’s hold, eyes fixed on their latest cargo.

 

He’s tiny, even smaller than Yondu had pictured in his mind. All of eight years old, the boy kneels on the ground, hands held in front of his face in a protective gesture. What little Yondu can see of his eyes show that they are red from crying.

 

“Horuz, you got that translation chip ready?”

 

“Right here.” Horuz hands the medical device over, and Yondu steps forward.

 

“NO!” The Terran child screams, bites, kicks, punches, and throws himself backwards into the wall of the hold where he curls up in a tight foetal position, hiding his head in his arms.

 

Horuz gently takes the device from Yondu’s loose grip. “Now come on kid, I know you’ve been through a rough few minutes but…ARGH!” Horuz cries out as the Terran’s foot makes contact with his ankle, sending the burly man into a sprawled heap on the floor and the translation device sliding to come to a stop at Kraglin’s feet.

 

He hesitates as both Yondu and Horuz turn to face him. He shouldn’t even be on the M-Ship, he snuck on out of curiosity, wanting to see what a Terran looked like up close. Yondu’s already made it clear that there is a severe reprimand in the Xandarian teen’s immediate future.

 

He slowly kneels down, picks up the device, and looks up. As he does so he makes eye contact with the red haired child sat opposite. The Terran isn’t the backwater, half intelligent savage animal that Kraglin had been expecting. He’s...well he’s just another little boy.

 

“Um...hello.” Kraglin reaches into his coat, pulling out his small toy car. “Do you want something to play with?” He places it on the ground and gently pushes it towards the Terran, who watches its journey.

 

“Good boy.” Yondu whispers, stepping behind Kraglin and grabbing Horus by the shoulder. Both adults step out into the galley and out of sight, effectively leaving the children alone in the room.

 

The Terran sniffs, and looks at the car. He touches it, flinches, pulls back and then, when nothing happens, reaches out again. With a shaking, tear stained finger he pushes at the car, and it rolls back towards the Xandarian.

 

Kraglin laughs, and pushes it back.

 

Time passes, marked out by the cars journey backwards and forwards. Kraglin feels the M-Ship dock. He hears the voices in the room outside. He carries on.  After a while the Terran starts to smile with him and the car continues back and forth and back and forth.

 

His eyes fixed on the vehicle, Kraglin is taken by surprise when he suddenly finds himself with his arms full of Terran, arms wrapped tightly around his neck and tears staining his shoulder. Kraglin gently returns the hold, rubbing his hand up and down the boy’s back the way that Yondu, Horus or sometimes Klo always did for him when he was scared or upset. It always helped.

 

He keeps up the movement as Yondu finally returns to the room, kneeling down and quietly picking up the translation device and quickly injecting the chip in the back of the Terran’s neck.

 

When Yondu nods, Kraglin whispers. “My name’s Kraglin, what’s yours?”

 

“Peter Jason Quill.” The boy says sitting back and sniffing. “My name’s Peter Jason Quill.”

 

“Do you want to be friends, Peter Jason Quill?”

 

* * *

 

_Floating._

_Warm._

_Sound._

 

* * *

 

“So.” Klo folds his arms and leans backwards against the railing. “I WAS going to go into a lecture about why a man with your figure shouldn’t drink Drax the Destroyers bodyweight in Badoon Whisky, but I think you’ve learned that lesson by yourself.”

 

Kraglin starts to reply, but can barely get a syllable out before he has returned to emptying what little stomach contents he has left into the fuel vat below them.

 

“Well at least your not a hugging drunk like Lupe, I suppose.” Klo waits for the spell to pass, and then pats the younger man on the back. “Now how about I get you back to your bunk and try to rescue what little liver function you have left?”

 

“J’st g’ wy.” Kraglin somehow manages to mumble without opening his mouth.

 

“I would if I trusted you not to throw yourself into the fuel vat. Which is nasty. Ask Harris, he’ll tell you.”

 

Hands still on the bars, Kraglin pushes himself backwards, eyes closed and gaze fixed on the floor. “I just killed the closest thing I had to a brother, Klo. So get lost.”

 

“Do you actually need me to LIST the reasons why I don’t want to leave you alone right now.” Klo says, tapping the Xandarian’s arm.

 

If looks could kill, then Klo figures that the one that Kraglin throws at him would probably have followed him into the afterlife for an encore. Luckily for Klo and his ancestors waiting on the other side, the effect is quickly shattered when Kraglin stumbles, and pulls himself back against the bars for another session of throwing up what is now little more than bile into the fuel vat.

 

Klo grimaces, and returns to waiting. By the time he is finished, Kraglin is shaking with exhaustion. He collapses to his knees, folding himself around the bars and looking miserable.

 

“Quill isn’t dead, Kraglin.” Klo sighs, and sits down next to him, his legs dangling over the edge like a child sitting on a wall. “And WHEN he wakes up, do you think he’ll blame you for what happened?”

 

“He’s not going to wake up.” Kraglin says, sadly. “You heard what Nari said. He’s going to die in that sleep and I...”

 

“Nari ain’t Doc. She don’t know half of what she’s talking about. Wait till we get back to Xandar. Doc can...”

 

"Doesn't matter." Kraglin shakes his head, hugging the bars a little tighter. “I hurt him. Either way. Captain should throw me at the wall and let the crew tear me apart.”

 

“Not going to happen. Yondu doesn’t blame you.”

 

“Yondu hasn’t said a word to me since I...”

 

“He hasn’t really said a word to anyone, Kraglin. He’s just sitting by Quill’s bed keeping vigil. Nari says it’s Thanos all over again.” He returns his hand to resting on Kraglin’s back. “Quill...it wasn’t your fault. You saved this ship, Kraglin. Her crew. Me. Everybody. Quill knows that, wherever he is, and so does Yondu. No one blames you for having to make that choice.”

 

Kraglin shudders, and turns slightly so that he is facing away from the Vanir.

 

Klo nods, standing before dragging the Xandarian up to stand beside him. “You okay to…”

 

Kraglin collapses against him.

 

“...walk?” The Vanir gives him a fond smile, and wraps an arm around his shoulders to hold up upright. “Come on then. I promise, you’ll get some sleep and it’ll be better tomorrow. Quill might even be awake tomorrow.”

 

Kraglin doesn’t reply.

 

* * *

 

_Floating._

_Warm._

_Sound._

_‘So, managed to contact your lost M-Ships…’_

 

* * *

 

“...they’ll meet us at Knowhere, and from there it’s a short hop back to Xandar to pick up Gamora and that Krylorian kid.” It is this point that Rocket realises that Yondu isn’t listening. He sighs, looks at Groot who is standing by the door, and climbs up onto the bed in front of the centaurian.

 

To any ill informed glance, Peter simply seems to be asleep, curled up on his side under the blanket, expression peaceful and breathing regular. But there is no movement under the eyelids or in his face. No dreams. No thought. No...Rocket can’t think of a better word than soul.

 

“You know, the crew back there is worried about you. Just saying.” Rocket says to Yondu, letting out a huff as he falls his a cross legged position on the bed. “You eaten today?”

 

Yondu spares Rocket a glance, then goes back to watching Peter, bringing up a hand to rest against the top of the Terran’s head. “I don’t need babysitting.”

 

“Well excuse me for trying to be a fricking friend in your time of need.” Rocket spits, pushing himself back to a standing position and resting a splayed hand against Peter’s blanket covered hip. “You know, Quill’s bounced back from worst than this.”

 

“I know.” Yondu says, nodding. “Watched him through most of that worst.”

 

“Yes. I guess you have.” Rocket chuckles nervously, and he wasn’t often nervous so kudos to Yondu Udonta, and started drawing small circled with his hand against Peter’s hip. “Bet he was a handful as a teenager.”

 

Yondu smiles. “Handful ain’t the word, Rat.”

 

Rocket nods, a rare moment of tact convincing him to ignore the derogatory nickname. “Ran rings around you, did he?"

 

“Worst in his twenties.” Yondu says, his voice slightly detached as if he is speaking to himself as much as to Rocket. “When he was twenty one we sent him to Gramos to finalise a deal negotiation. He winds up finalising things with some dutchess a couple of years older than him. Only need to look at his rap sheet to see how her father took that. Haven’t been back to Gramos since. Probably need to leave it a few generations, hey Boy?” He runs his hand through Quill’s fringe and hair, then returns it to its original position against his crown.

 

Fully aware that he is now intruding on what, in Yondu’s mind, is a private moment, Rocket inches his way along to the back of the bed and down to the floor. He stops at the door. “He’ll wake up. I told you, he’s bounced back from worst than this.”

 

Yondu doesn’t answer. Silence falls over the room that is almost a sound in itself, and Yondu leans forward.

 

“Rat’s right, Boy. You’ve bounced back from Thanos. That stone. All that stupid shit you went through as a youngling. I ain’t letting THIS be what kills you. Not this. So you hear me boy, you are going to wake up. You’re going to be alive. That’s an order, and if it’s the last order from me you ever follow then LET it be.”

 

* * *

 

_Floating._

_Warm._

_Sound._

_‘Ain’t going to let you die, Boy. Not like this.’_

_Floating._

_Cold._

_Pain._

_No._

_Warm._

_Sound._

 

* * *

 

Kraglin is asleep before his head has even hit the pillow of his bunk. Klo works quickly, removing the other man’s coat and shoes and then injecting a couple of rehydration medications and a third injection for electrolytes.

 

“There we go.” He sits for a few minutes, watching the Xandarian sleep, running a finger along one of the scars along Kraglin’s arms and checking both limbs for recent wounds, allowing himself a small smile when he finds none. Well, that’s something at least. He pulls blanket up over the sleeping form and stands.

  
“I’ll come back in an hour to check on you.” He whispers, smiling before he turns off the light and slips out of the quarters.

 

As soon as the door is closed, Kraglin opens his eyes, and sits up in the darkness. He gives himself a moment to balance, and then climbs out of the bunk. He doesn’t bother to put his coat or shoes back on.

 

He won’t need them where he is going.

 

* * *

 

_Warm._

 

_Sound._

 

_Cold._

_‘Quill?’_

_Pain._

_Warm._

_Sound._

_‘Come on, Boy. You can do this.’_

_Alive._

 

* * *

 

Alive.

 

* * *

 

 

 


	10. Post-apocalyptic, postmortem love song.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter hopes that neither of them is lying.

“Mom?” Peter rubs the sleep from his eyes as he tiptoes into the room in slippered feet, still dragging his blanket behind him because his brain isn’t awake enough to register the need to let it go.

 

His Mom is sat on the edge of her bed, eyes on the floor, trembling slightly as her sobs move through her. She looks round at the sound of her son’s voice, and a smile forces its way onto her face as she sniffs, and rubs at her eyes.

 

“Hey, baby? Did you have a nightmare.” She pats the bed beside her.

 

Peter shakes his head, climbing onto the furniture. “Did you? You’re crying?”

  
Meredith smiles. “Come here, Peter. I have something important to tell you. And it’s going to make you sad, but…” She swallows slightly, and puts a hand on each of her son’s shoulders as she turns to face him. “Murray has decided that he doesn’t want to live with us anymore. So he’s gone away?”

 

“Was it something I did?” Peter says without thinking, fear grasping his chest in a physical grip that feels like ice.

 

Meredith shakes her head, tears flicking from the corners of her eyes. “No baby, no. Nothing you did.” She strokes his hair. “It’s just that sometimes adults, like Murray and me, well they can fall out. Same as you and Billy fell out over that bike race.”

 

“He was totally cheating. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

 

“Of course I believe you, sweetheart.” She smiles. “But, well me and Murray decided that we didn’t want to be friends anymore either. Same as you and Billy. And that’s why he has gone to live somewhere else.”

 

“So I’ll never see him again?”

 

“I’m so sorry, Peter.” She sniffs, and pulls him into a hug, which Peter decides later is for the best because it means that she can’t see how happy the news makes him.

 

* * *

 

Peter gasps like a drowning man reaching the surface, sitting up so fast that his head almost collides with Yondu’s chin. The Centaurian just manages to dodge, stepping sideways to wrap his arms around the terran to stop him from falling back painfully against the bed when his strength quickly fails him.

 

“Easy, boy. Easy.” Yondu doesn’t even try to hide the smile in his voice. “Ah, knew you wouldn’t let this beat you. Stronger than anything. Always have been.” He brings their foreheads together, hands clutching each of the terran’s ears. “Got you back.” He leans back, eyes reading the confusion in the younger man’s face.

 

Yondu nods, and slides one of his hands back down to Peter’s shoulder, giving it what he hopes is a reassuring squeeze. “Soon as your stronger, we’ll get you another translator. Guess you’ll be using Kraglin as a go between till then. I think he’s picked up a bit of your language over the years.”

 

Peter looks from left to right, squinting slightly as an apparent headache builds behind his eyes. Reaching past the terran, Yondu lowers the lights in the room so that only vague outlines can be seen.

 

He can feel the tension flow out from under his hand as the pain eases in Peter’s skull.

 

“Mu’Rel?”

 

Yondu nods, smiles, and slides a finger beneath his chin, mimicking Peter’s favourite old terran gesture.

 

Peter sags with relief, chuckling slightly. “We won.”

 

Yondu nods, squeezing his shoulder again. “That you did, boy. That you did.” He steps back slightly, giving Peter room to turn sideways on the bed and slip onto the floor, held up by the Centaurian.

 

He looks down, his face suddenly sad. “My Mom was there.”

 

Yondu nods, expression solemn as he pats the younger man on the back. “Yeah, boy.”

 

“Let’s um…let’s talk when we can.” He rests a hand against his stomach. “Right now I need to eat everything on this ship.”

 

“Well I’m sure that can…”

 

“ROCKET?” Harris skids slightly as he runs into the room, looking frantically from left to right. “Captain Yondu, Sir. It is nothing for you to worry about but I was wondering if you had...hey Quill...I was wondering if you had seen Rocket only...QUILL!”

 

Harris doesn’t hesitate, he launches himself as the terran, sending Peter collapsing back against the bed as he returns the hug. After a moment Harris remembers himself and steps back, eyes still as wide as saucers.

 

“I am so so sorry. I...I...I should not have done that. That was an imposition. I just...you are awake and that is amazing.”

 

Peter shakes his head, pointing at his neck.

 

“And you have no idea what I am saying.” Harris nods, and looks back at Yondu. “Sorry, Captain, did I mention why I was coming into the room?”

 

“You’re looking for the Rat.”

 

“Yes, Rocket. Thank you. Is he here?”

 

“He’s off looking for that dumb tree friend of his?”

 

“Is he looking in cargo bay two?” Harris said, before gritting his teeth. “Not that anything is happening right now in cargo bay two. All rather boring down there, to tell you the truth.”

 

Peter looks from Harris to Yondu.

 

“Harayson?”

 

“Yes Captain Yondu, sir.”  
  


“What’s happening in cargo bay two?”

 

“Um…”

 

* * *

 

In the far corner of the cargo hold, half hidden by shadow, is a cocoon. It is made of wood, and vines, and the odd flower or two. Mostly though, it is covered in thorns.

 

And it is Groot.

 

“This is the cocoon that you described on the Dark Aster?” Drax asks. “Why is he doing this here?”

 

“It’s a defence mechanism.” Rocket raises both of his hands in a surrender gesture, and inches forward. “Easy Groot, buddy. It’s me, your old pal Rocket.”

 

The vines stay put.

 

“A defence mechanism.” Drax repeats, taking his own step forward behind the racoon. “Could he have come to harm, somehow?”

 

Rocket shakes his head, looking over his shoulder at the brute. “This ain’t Groot defending himself. This is Groot defending whoever the feck he has in that cocoon with him.”

 

Drax kneels down so that he is as close to height level with Rocket as he can get. “One of Quill’s Pirate friends?”

 

Rocket shrugs, and turns back to face the Groot cocoon. “It’s just us, Groot. We ain’t going to hurt you or whoever you’ve got in there. You know that, don’t you?”

 

The thorns retract.

 

“Yeah. Just us.”

 

Drax turns at the sound of footsteps, standing to greet the trio entering the cargo hold behind them. “Quill!”

 

“Hey, Drax.” Peter smiles, clearly exhausted by the short walk from medical to the cargo bay. His smile falls as he looks at the focus of Rocket’s attention. “Is that Groot?”

 

Surrendering Quill to Drax’s support, Yondu strides towards the cocoon. “What the hell’s going on here, Rat?”

 

Rocket shakes his head and sighs, sitting down cross legged on the ground. “Can’t tell you that till Groot decides to open us.” Rocket says, matter of factly. “In my experience, that might be a while?”

 

Drax steps forward. “Is there anything we can do to help him?”

 

“Don’t know.” Rocket says. “Never been on the OUTSIDE of one of these before.” Memories flood him. Cold. Scared. Just escaped from the lab and lost and alone. Until someone picks him up and envelops him in a warm, safe world where all he needs to worry about is repairing his own mind. “Whoever is in there isn’t in danger. I can tell you that.”

 

Yondu opens his coat, arrow already twitching in his sheath. “You telling me he’s got one of my men in there?”

 

“Most likely. Going to have to settle with a guess. Ain’t no scanner in the universe that can read Groot right.” Rocket turns back to face the Captain. “You really think that shooting him with that thing is going to help whoever he’s got in there?”

 

Yondu’s eyes narrow, but he also closes the coat. The cocoon, for the most part, appears to be still, and if there IS someone inside he doesn’t want to risk them coming to harm. Nodding, he sits on the floor a few feet away from Rocket, legs crossed. “Well you’re tree friend better have a damn good explanation ready when he does open up.”

 

Peter, with a shrug, sits down beside Yondu, with Drax taking up position on his other side.

 

Still stood at the entrance, which is slowly becoming full of curious bystanders, Harris raises a hand. “Um...captain?”

 

“Get Kraglin down here.” Yondu says without looking round. “And tell Nari to run a scan. See if something’s on board that spooked the tree.”

 

“Yes, sir. Captain, sir. Captain.” Harris nods, runs out, and then runs back in again. “Which do you want me to do first?”

 

* * *

 

Peter’s headache slowly subsides as he sits and watches. Because he can do little else. Drax’s booming voice, Rocket’s high pitched squeaks and the alien tongues of the Ravagers fly around him, and he still has no idea why Groot has cocooned himself in the corner of the cargo bay.

 

After ten minutes, Klo and Harris run into the bay and have a very frantic conversation with Yondu which ends with everyone looking at the cocoon.

 

When Yondu looks back it’s clear that he is angry. But there’s another expression as well. One that Peter rarely sees there, but has witnessed a lot over the last few days.

 

The Centaurian is scared.

 

As soon as the Ravagers are gone, the door sealed behind them, Yondu returns to sitting beside Peter on the cargo bay floor.

 

Yondu doesn't speak. There isn’t much point until Peter can get his implant replaces. After a moment, and making sure for the Captain’s sake that neither Drax nor Rocket are watching, Peter reaches across and squeezes the back of Yondu’s hand.

 

The hand turns within his and squeezes back.

 

_It’s going to be okay._

 

Peter hopes that neither of them is lying.

 


	11. Build a Snowman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shame he ain’t had a chance to practice much. What with you waiting twenty seven years to tell him that he had super powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic does not seem to want to end :-/
> 
> And once again this thing published itself in the past :-/ I really don't get what is wrong with this fic. Apologies if any subscribers got spammed while I fixed it.

“Doc, it’s a hat.” Kraglin grabs the edge of the item in question and gives it a tug, pulling it back onto the boys head at the expense of his hairstyle beneath it. “You’re supposed to wear it on your head, not your face.”

 

“But my face is what’s cold.” The child whines.

 

“Then pull the bloody scarf up.”

 

“It itches.”

 

“For the love of…” Kraglin grabs the scarf, and substitutes it with his own blue one. “There. Better? And Quill why the HELL are you recording this?”

 

Peter laughs, looking out from behind the camera. “I’m making a document. So when Nova Corps finds the Eclector floating dead in deep space, they’ll know what happened.”

 

“Because finding our frozen corpses on a ship with broken environmental controls won't be a clue.”

 

“Well it is Nova Corps.” Peter turns the camera around, winks into the lense, and then turns it back.

 

“Are we really going to die?” Doc squeeks, eyes as wide as his head.

 

“Nah. You heard Horuz.” Peter says, pointing the camera at the Krylorian. “We’re less than six hours from a Rainer colony. They’ll fix the ship.”

 

“How long is six hours?”

 

Kraglin shrugs, wraps Doc’s scarf around his own face, and checks the charge on the electric heater sitting between the trio. “Why don’t you get some sleep, like the Captain. It will help make time go faster?”

 

“Shouldn’t sleep when cold. Cap’n Yondu’s only doing it because Centaurian body temperature raises when they are asleep.” Doc says, shaking his head. “Don’t you know anything?”

 

“Alright, brain box.” Kraglin says, pulling the too large hat down over Doc’s eyes before looking over the boy’s head at Peter. “You warm enough, Peter?”

 

Peter isn’t listening, his ‘documentary’ currently filming Yondu who is curled up on his side at the edge of the little camp that they’ve made in Doc’s room. Suddenly, the Teen let’s out what can only be described as a snort, and lowers the camera. “Here, Kraglin, take this.”

 

“What are you doing?” Kraglin whispers, taking the camera and watching. Fear slowly takes hold of him as he sees Peter grab a marker pen from his bag. “No...No no no.”

 

The teen laughs, holds a finger to his lips, and kneels down. Five seconds later, Yondu has a moustache, and Doc can barely breath for laughing around the hand that Kraglin has clamped over his mouth, the other filming the entire thing for evidence later.

 

“Peter Jason Quill, you are a child.” Kraglin hisses, although he is also struggling to keep a smile off of his own face.

 

Finishing off a messy pair of spectacles, Peter puts the lid back on the pen. “How long till you reckon he notices?”

 

“I want to draw something.” Doc says, but Kraglin grabs his hand, pulling it down.

 

“You’re too young to die.”

 

* * *

 

Kraglin stirs, eyes opening a crack. Then they open fully, and he looks around, before settling his gaze on Groot. “Did I fall asleep?”

 

“I am Groot.”

 

“Sorry.” The Xandarian laughs quietly as he pushes himself up to a sitting position. “Thanks for staying. You didn’t go getting too bored did you?”

 

The other man shakes his head, and indicates the cocoon around them with a nod.

 

Kraglin’s eyes close, and he lowers his head. “I was a mess.”

 

“I am Groot.” Groot smiles, and another vine snakes its way around the other man’s shoulders.

 

He looks away. “Has there...has there been any news on Quill?”

 

The smile remains. “I am Groot.”

 

“He’s awake!” Groot nods. “WHEN?” Kraglin jumps up, his head nearly colliding with the roof of the cocoon. “That’s great. That’s…He’s alive. I didn’t kill him.”

 

The elation is short lived, as the last few updates from Kraglin’s patchy memory filter their way through. Encouraged by the vine, he slowly sits back down, eyes fixed on the floor.

 

The vine tightens around his shoulders.

 

“I’m sorry…” The Xandarian whispers. “I know I have no right to ask more of you...and I do want to see Quill...but…” He looks around. “Can I just sit here for a little while, first?”

 

“I am Groot.”

 

* * *

 

“I ain’t much of a fan of this waiting.” Yondu says, not even trying to hide the irritation from his voice.

 

“I’m as eager for this to be over as you are, Blue, but Groot’s the one in charge.” Rocket turns around. “Hey, Quill. Can’t you teleport in and grab Frenemy?”

 

Peter shrugs, having not even a CLUE as to what Rocket is saying to him. He and Yondu are sat back to back, although Peter is more leaning than sitting by this point.

 

“Don’t know how solid that structure is.” Yondu says. “He might hurt your tree friend.”

 

Surprised by the display of concern, Rocket gives an amused huff, then crosses his arms. “Shame he ain’t had a chance to practice much. What with you waiting twenty seven years to tell him that he had super powers. Would have been nice if he could have got us off the Dark Aster so Groot didn’t have to go through the pain of fucking DYING up there. Or maybe use some of that mind power to get the stone back from Ronan in the first place.”

 

“I had my reasons.”

 

“Oh sure, YOU had your reasons. Well that more than makes up for Peter spending a month being tortured and worst by a maniac, while having the means to escape the entire time.”

 

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT!” Yondu screams, at his feet and coat open in a second, arrow whining in its sheath. “You think I didn’t TELL myself that every DAMN day that he was missing. When he was sick afterwards.”

 

Peter starts to stand, but Drax grabs him by the shoulders, keeping him sat down. “Yondu, whatever Rocket said I’m sure he…”

 

“Oh I meant it Quill.” Rocket says. “Peter was stuck in that place because of you.”

 

“And if I HAD told him, RAT, what would have happened, huh? If I had told him that he could travel the universe in a heartbeat, create dream worlds and trap people there. Inflict pain. You’ve seen Thanos, and Mu’Rel, and even that bastard Ronan. Give someone power and it corrupts them. Makes them see everyone else as less. As pawns. Underlings. VERMIN.” Rocket flinches at the word. “And I weren’t giving that power to a child. His mother deserved better.”

 

He turns to Peter, kneeling down in front of him and wrapping his hands around his head, looking him directly in the eyes. “I ain’t no angel Quill, but she wouldn’t have wanted you to have that power growing up. She wouldn’t have wanted what it would have done to you.” He smiles, and brings their foreheads together. “You were a good kid, Quill. I needed you to stay that way. And I ain’t apologising for making that choice for you, whatever the consequences.”

 

“Yeah.” Rocket says, nodding. “Yeah I get that.”

 

“You know I have no idea what you’re saying, right.” Peter says, a tear building up in the corner of his eye anyway because just seeing Yondu apparently bare his true soul like this, especially with witnesses, ESPECIALLY with Rocket and Drax as witnesses, it deserves to be acknowledged emotionally.

 

“Made a lot of wrong choices in my life, Quill. But you’ve never been one of them. You’re one of the things I did right, and always have been.”

 

“Look, Yondu…”

 

The anger returns to Yondu’s face. “Maybe you should try actually using some of that supposed intelligence you had shoved in there, Rat.” Standing, he kicks the cocoon. “And open this damn…”

 

And the cocoon covers itself in thorns, sending Yondu falling over backwards onto his behind. Peter is immediately beside him, starting to help him to stand before Yondu brushes him off. “I ain’t an invalid yet.”

 

“Maybe kicking him isn’t such a good idea?” Peter says, looking at the now thorn covered cocoon.

 

Brushing imaginary dust from the shoulders of his coat, Yondu shakes his head. “Soon as we can, we’re talking about your choice of friends.”

 

* * *

 

“Yondu just WHAT?”

 

“I am Groot.”

 

* * *

 

“Look Rocket.” Peter turns to the Racoon. “Maybe take back whatever you just said to Yondu, okay?”

 

“Whose side are you on, Humey? And I JUST apologised.”

 

“I do not believe that you actually said that you were sorry.” Drax says, arms crossed.

 

“Well let’s all have a pop at me, shall we. Get the crew to line up and take turns. The little princess can go first. Hey Groot, you got anything to add, you lumbering idiot? What about...”

 

Rocket’s raving abruptly stops as the thorns covering the cocoon retract, and the shell cracks open.

 

 


	12. Welcome to the New Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yondu hasn’t cried since the day that Peter regained his sight, and he’ll be a dead man before he cries in front of them now.

“Captain. Finally got a message through to that Rainer colony, they’re sending a ship out to…” Klo JUST about manages to swallow back a fit of giggles. “...rendezvous with us.” And then fails, leaning against the wall. Coming through the door behind him, Harris quickly fights, and loses, the same battle with hysterics.

 

“There something you boys find amusing?”

 

“No.” Klo gulps out the word, breathless from laughter. Harris shakes his head, and then runs a finger around his face in a shaky circle before collapsing completely and leaving the room, quickly followed by the Vanir.

 

Without a word, Yondu turns to the far end of the room, where a small mirror is attached to the wall. He doesn’t react, not even a tremor. He slowly turns, reaches down, and grabs Doc by the shoulders, lifting him off the ground to eye level.

 

“Who. Had. The pen?”

 

Somewhat terrified, Doc shook his head.

 

“What I tell you about lying to your elders, little space pirate?”

 

“Don’t.”

 

“So. Who had the pen?”

 

“Star-Lord.”

 

“Good boy.” Yondu smiles and puts the boy back on the ground, a hand resting on his head to hold him still as he gazed down at the Terran, who was still fast asleep. He had slept through a space battle before, so this wasn’t all that surprising. “Where’s Kraglin?”

 

“He said…” Doc shrugs. “He said he didn’t want to be in the same room as Quill when you woke up.”

 

“Smart man.” Yondu says, before winking at the tiny Krylorian, reaching into Peter’s bag, and pulling out the pen. With a smile, he removes the lid. “Got any suggestions?”

 

Doc shakes his head, hand covering his mouth to stop himself from giggling.

 

* * *

 

Everybody watches as the shell slowly shrinks back into the familiar shape of Groot. As soon as the process is finished the tall man collapses, and would have hit the floor had it not been for Drax’s fast reflexes.

 

“Is he okay?” Kraglin says, a hand rested on Groot’s arm.

 

“Yeah, just takes it out of him for a bit, is all.” Rocket says, his own hand resting on Groot’s knee. “Nothing some shut eye and a lamp won't put right.”

 

“Find Zanna in the weapons room.” Yondu says, quietly. “His species eat light same as Groot. He should have a lamp for you. Say I sent you.”

 

“Thanks.” Rocket says, surprised by the gesture until he turns to see the expression on the Centaurian’s face. Yondu’s no fool. He probably put two and two together the moment that he realised who was inside the cocoon with Groot. And it’s a well hidden but just about visible gratitude that Rocket can now see in the Captain’s eyes.

 

Kraglin makes to follow the trio out, but is stopped by a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You stay here.”

 

It is a good minute before Yondu speaks again. “You hurt?”

 

“He didn’t hurt me.”

 

“Not what I asked.”

 

Kraglin nods. “I’m not hurt. I was...he stopped me.”

 

“He find you, or did you go to him?”

 

“He found me. Near the airlocks.” He starts to panic. “I didn’t...I thought Quill was dying and everyone...crew would blame me, I blamed me. I wasn’t thinking...”

 

“Why didn’t you come to me? That was our deal, remember?”

 

“I thought you...” Kraglin looks down.

 

“That’s on me then.” Yondu nods in the direction where the cocoon had been. “Did it help?”

 

A pause, and then Kraglin nods.

 

“Right.” Yondu looks over his shoulder. “Come here, boy.”

 

Peter, who had pretty much assumed that his presence in the room had been forgotten, holds out his hand, shaking his head. “Going to need a diagram here.”

 

“He...is saying...come here.” The English words are halting, and Kraglin speaks them in a strange accent.

 

“Is there a language in the galaxy that you can’t pick up?” Peter says, walking over so that he is stood beside Yondu, who immediately puts an arm around his shoulder, a gesture that Peter, after a moment of confusion, returns.

 

“Okay, happy families. Let’s do this.” He says, his other arm snaking around the Xandarian at the same time as Yondu’s until the end result is a three way hug, foreheads touching.

 

Yondu doesn’t speak. He has too much that he wants to say, and he’d rather Kraglin enjoyed the moment than concentrated on translating hyperbole. It’s been almost a year to the day since they found Peter on Morag, blind deaf and helpless. Over a year since a battle killed friends and gave Kraglin the final push needed to send him over the edge. And for Yondu, it’s been a year of watching that descent. Of checking update after update to make sure the Guardian’s were safe. Of reading medical reports from Xandar and the occasional updates on Peter’s well being that Drax smuggled off of the Milano.

 

He’s watched them both die and come back.

 

Yondu hasn’t cried since the day that Peter regained his sight, and he’ll be a dead man before he cries in front of them now. But he does tighten the hold, and he feels it returned, Peter’s hand against his back giving him a hearty pat.

 

“Okay. Enough of the sentiment.” The Centaurian says with a laugh, although he notices how hesitant Kraglin especially is to pull away, and makes a mental note to do this more often with the younger man. “You boys are going to destroy what’s left of my dangerous captain reputation.”

 

“Crew’s seen you with Doc and Zeena.” Kraglin mutters. “The reputation is in pieces.”

 

“Need to fix that. Maybe I should throw someone at The Wall. You boys for a start. If I had hair it’d be grey by now.” He places a hand on each of their shoulders. “Why do I put up with you?”

 

Kraglin translates, and Peter shrugs. “No one else will.”

 

“Damn right.”

 

* * *

 

It took a few drawings and a game of charades, but eventually the Ravagers were able to communicate that the base of Peter’s brain was ready for them to reapply the translator, but no one wanted to even contemplate the can of worms without Doc on board. It was a minor miracle that all Peter seemed to be suffering from the injury was the occasional neck and headache, and no one was interested finding out just how many lucky breaks fate was willing to throw the Terran.

 

To Peter’s amusement, his situation had lead to a return to the communication system used after he had been rescued from Thanos, which had almost gone unnoticed until Doc pointed it out when the Eclector rendezvoused with the Milano and the rest of the Ravager fleet near the Xandar system.

 

Although not straight away.

 

“Don’t you EVER do that to me AGAIN!” He shouts, punching Peter in the shoulder hard. Twice. And then, when he can’t think of any more sentences to shout, he goes for a third until Klo grabs his hand.

 

“Holy shit.” Harris says, turning to Yondu and Kraglin. “Since when did Doc have a temper?”

 

“You’re lucky I don’t have a firearm.” The Krylorian shouts at the oblivious Terran, while Klo gently pulls him back onto the Milano, followed by a curious and giggling Zeena. They pass Gamora on the ramp, and her reaction to seeing the Terran is quieter, silent almost. She lets out a breath, steps forward, and embraces him, one hand clutching at the hair on the back of his head as if to hold him there.

 

“Hey, you?” Peter whispers quietly, planting a kiss on the side of her neck before stepping back, holding her at arms length. “Miss me?”

 

Gamora’s face switches to a glare, and Peter braces himself for another punch. Luckily for Peter’s rapidly bruising shoulder, Drax, Rocket and Groot choose that moment to arrive in the hanger.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t scratch, you’ll irritate the injection point.” Doc says, pulling down Peter’s collar so that he can inspect the site.

 

“I can still feel the damn thing building itself in there.” Peter whines, rubbing at the injection site.

 

“A TOAST!” Klo shouts at the top of his voice, climbing up onto the canteen table with a flagon in hand. In his other hand he is carrying a cup of water, which he makes a big point of slamming in front of the sheepish looking Kraglin before grabbing the Xandarian’s flagon and taking it away. Not that Klo was setting any sort of example, judging by the way he stumbled slightly as he walked back up the table.

 

“Ravagers.” He raises both flagons. “A toast to the most awesome ship in the known galaxy, with the finest crew of reprobates that I ever had to fortune of being rescued by and invited to join...fifty years ago?” He looks at Yondu.

 

“Give or take.”

 

“And a toast to our First Mate, for valiantly rescuing said crew and ship, and for the best shot I think anyone in the universe has taken yet in actually getting rid of Quill.”

 

“Who has assassins on his side so watch it.” Peter shouts over the jeers, although he is smiling as well. Drax nods, a hand discreetly resting over the hilt of his blade, although he too is smiling.

 

“And of course, to the Captain. Yondu, may Heimdall watch over you and Odin guide you, because with this crew at your side...you’ll need all the help you can get.”

 

“Here here.” Yondu says, raising his glass and the crew cheers.

 

Klo continues to walk up the table. “And our guests. The Guardians of the Galaxy. Sorry I missed the show, but I hear you guys kicked ass.”

 

“More than you’ve sat on.” Rocket mutters around his food.

 

“And...what else was I going to say. Oh fuck it. To family and friends both gone and here.”

 

Everyone drinks the toast, and Klo part falls back into his chair next to a Harris, who seems to be looking embarrassed for him.

 

As the party separates into different conversations, Yondu turns to Peter. “You sticking around for a bit, boy?”

 

“All quiet on the Xandar front for the moment, so I guess we could. Up to my crew though.”

 

“You’re crew.” Yondu says, throwing a cursory glance at the Guardians. “And…”

 

“I’m going to try and forget about them. The powers. Mu’Rel, some of the stuff he could do was crazy. I...I don’t want to put anyone in danger. Become…that.”

 

“I doubt you would.” Yondu says, but he nods anyway. “You’re good people, Quill. I raised you well.”

 

“And so modest.” Peter’s smile falters slightly as he looks across the table at Kraglin, sat next to Rocket and Groot, and listening to the rapid fire conversation happening between the two. “You reckon he’ll be okay.”

 

“I think finding that hospital on Xandar helped. Stopped him from seeing himself as an outcast, and accept that he was someone who needed and deserved help.” Yondu nods. “He stepped up. When you and I were on Mu’Rel’s planet. He stepped up, took command, and did what he had to do to save the ship. Made the hard choices. He needs a bit of fine tuning, help dealing with that miswired brain of his, but he’ll make a fine captain one day.”

 

“He’s got a good mentor to learn from.”

 

Yondu laughs. “Horuz was right. I let you turn me soft, boy.”

 

“Don’t pretend to hate it.” Peter says, throwing a wink at the centaurian. He turns back to his food, then stops, lowering the cutlery. “Thanks for taking me in all those years ago. I’m glad I’ve got you by my side.”

 

“Same here, boy.”

 

* * *

 

Peter wakes so suddenly that he sits up, his breathing catching painfully in his throat as he looks left and right. He’s on the floor, surrounded by bed rolls and blankets and the warm bodies of his ship mates.

 

The entire crew has moved into the canteen. To Peter’s left is Yondu, and Drax is on his right, himself stirring at the loss of Peter at his side. Gamora is the other side of Drax, deeply asleep, and Peter pauses to move a strand of her hair away from her face, smiling as he does so.

 

Doc is curled up in a foetal position behind Gamora, using Klo’s chest as a pillow, something which Harris is also doing on the Vanir’s other side. Sitting sat up against the wall is Groot, with Rocket cradled almost like a doll in his arms and Kraglin laid with his head pillowed against the trees ankles.

 

A sound from behind him distracts Peter, and alerts him to what it was that woke him up in the first place. Yondu is twitching, muttering something in centaurian that Peter’s translator doesn’t even bother with. Sitting cross legged, Peter thinks, and then reaches out, running a thumb along the Centaurian’s forehead the way he has seen Yondu do so many times, his other hand rested on the man’s shoulder. It has the desired effect, and the captain slowly settles.

 

“We’re a fine broken bunch aren’t we.” Peter whispers. “Good thing we can hold each other together.”

 

Yondu doesn’t answer, but Peter thinks that he seems his lips form a small smile. As he lays back down he makes eye contact with Kraglin, himself awake for the moment.

 

They share a nod, and then both go back to sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is a wrap on "The Day the Music Died"
> 
> *Sobs*
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who read, left kudos, reviewed here and on ff.net. 
> 
> Shout out to LilRed7503 for their prompt which delivered a chapter in the series, and PinkEvilBob for some Lovely Doc and Klo fanart on Tumblr :-) and of course everyone who left comments with story ideas, questions and prompts that helped me to steer the story. *Hugs all round* This series has had its ups and downs, and there are parts that I am itching to go back and rewrite, but on the whole I have had so much fun writing in this crazy borderline AU, and hope you have enjoyed reading it as much.
> 
> "Diolch yn Fawr", which Kraglin will tell you means "Thank You Very Much" :-)


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